


Nazareth

by teacuptribbles



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Adoption, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Blood and Violence, Breaking Up & Making Up, Confused Spock, Daddy Issues, Everyone Is Gay, Friends to Lovers, I swear, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Jim Kirk is a patient man, M/M, McCoy knows, Post-Canon, Psychological Trauma, Substance Abuse, T'hy'la, Vulcan Culture, Vulcan Kisses, kind of, this is happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-12
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2019-03-17 06:09:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 28,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13653030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teacuptribbles/pseuds/teacuptribbles
Summary: After a grueling five year mission, Spock is dealing with feelings he would rather ignore, including feelings for his captain.  A traumatizing recovery mission on the failed American colony of Nazareth brings these feelings to the surface.  (Set between the last episode of Star Trek TOS and Star Trek: The Motion Picture.)





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> After reading Rodenberry's novelization of Star Trek: The Motion Picture, I wondered what the hell happened that was so bad that Spock ran off to purge himself of all emotion (and why his reunion with Jim was so painful and awkward).   
> So...I wrote this. Thank you all for reading.

**Chapter One**

_2269_

_Omega Sector, Alpha Quadrant_

Jim Kirk considered his move for a while. There seemed to be no next play that could advance the game in his favor. He relented and lifted a pawn to the next level. His first officer took it with aplomb. 

“You seem distracted tonight, Captain. Usually you are not so easy to deflect.”

Jim shifted in his seat. He hastily relocated another pawn. “We need to talk about something, Spock.”

Spock brought his fingers to his lips as he considered the board. “And what would that be?”

Jim shifted again and rubbed his palms on his thighs. “We’ve done the mind meld a few times, one recently. We are...connected, I suppose. You know how I think, and what I feel.” He paused and looked to Spock, who nodded in assurance. “Well, you must know, then, how...deep my affection for you is.”

Spock did not remove his gaze from their game. “It is your move, Captain.”

“Spock, can you forget chess for a moment? This is important.”

Crossing his arms, Spock leaned back. “As you wish.”

“I feel what you feel, too.”

“Vulcans do not--” 

Jim raised his hand in exasperation. “Yes, I know. I know what the Vulcan way of life asks of you. But we are _bonded_ , Spock. I feel you. Please don’t act as though I’m insane for suggesting you may have feelings for me.”

“I never suggested you were insane, Jim.” 

“So…?”

Spock raised his right brow, as was typical of him. They were silent for a while as Jim leaned forward with anticipation. Eventually he relented and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. “Please, Spock. This is hard enough.”

With their physical proximity and the intensity of the situation, Jim’s anxiety ran through Spock like a shiver. Jim was palpably, and unusually, nervous. Spock wanted to comfort him, but everything in his body told him to retreat. 

“Please look at me.”

Spock complied, even though the pain on Jim’s face made him want to turn away. 

“Loyalty is a chief virtue for Vulcans, and loyalty relies upon respect and even admiration.”

Jim appeared very tired. “That’s not _all_ , though. Even as we’ve been sitting here, I feel what you feel when you look at me. You may be able to ignore your emotions, but I can’t.”

“What would you have me say, Jim?” Spock’s tone was sharper than he had intended, and he was embarrassed that it had revealed so much. He swallowed before continuing. “You are my captain, and I am your first officer. We are friends. There can be no benefit to having this conversation. Ignoring our feelings is the logical course.”

“No benefit?” Jim stood up from his chair and gave his back to Spock. “You’re right, there are serious implications to this. That’s why we have to talk about it. We need to figure out what to do.”

Following Jim’s lead, Spock stood. He took a step in his direction. “There is only one sensible course of action: nothing.”

Jim turned. They were facing one another once again. Spock could feel Jim’s anger fading away. “Starfleet policy is not resolute when it comes to fraternization. We have dozens of couples serving on this ship. You know that as well as I do.”

“None of those couples is composed of a captain.”

Jim sighed. “True, Spock. True. But now I’m going to ask you something, and I want you to answer completely honestly. It’s just us in this room, remember.”

Spock nodded. “Alright, Jim.”

“What do you want?”

Jim could feel Spock’s racing heart. His desire and his shame. He immediately knew what Spock was going to say. “And please don’t say it’s irrelevant. It’s very relevant, to me.”

Spock lowered his gaze. Words came into his mind but disappeared before he could register them. It had been a long time since he had felt so uncertain.

To anyone else, Spock would have appeared his stony, disciplined self. But Jim could see him struggle. In their five years serving together, Jim had learned that Spock needed permission to relax. He breathed in and reached for Spock’s hand. He took it in his own and turned the palm up to view its creases and lines. 

As he traced these lines with his fingers, a hot white heat flashed in Spock’s brain. Warmth spread across his ears and cheeks. His muscles tensed with anticipation and pleasure. In his mind there was Jim’s affection, and his need. He felt himself falling into the heat.

He pulled his hand away. 

“I...what I want is what is best for you and the _Enterprise_. I’m sorry, Jim, but I cannot provide you with what you need.”

Jim tried to remain composed. He stepped away from his friend. “I understand.”

He did understand. There was a joke passed on from older to younger captains at promotion ceremonies: if you’re married, may as well get divorced now. Starfleet captains did not get involved in serious relationships. The hours were too long, the stress too severe, the loneliness of command too isolating. Jim knew his ship must come before anything, or anyone, else. For someone as social and passionate as Jim, this rule was often a painful one to live by.

And he certainly did not anticipate his mission, and the relationship between himself and his first officer, to unfold as it had. 

After Spock left Jim’s quarters, Jim started a shower and stood in it for a long time, letting the water run over his head and down the length of his body. He wasn’t sure what else there was to do.

***

Spock avoided Jim for the next two days. He performed his duties as efficiently and admirably as always, but retreated to the exobiology lab in the evenings. They did not play chess.

As Jim attempted to read one of these evenings, his door chimed. His heart lurched. “Come in.”

He looked up to see his chief medical officer carrying a bottle of whiskey. 

McCoy smiled. “Well, I know I’m no prize, but don’t look so disappointed.”

Jim returned the smile. “Sorry Bones. What can I do for you?”

McCoy pulled two glasses from Jim’s shelf. “Take your prescription.”

“My prescription? For what?”

McCoy poured them two fingers each. “For a broken heart.”

Jim put his book aside and drank. He often felt an overwhelming gratitude for Dr. McCoy, and tonight was one of those occasions. “How did you know?”

McCoy leaned against the wall. “I’ve known you a long time, you big, dumb romantic. I’ve seen that face a few times. Who is it?”

Jim poured himself another. “I can’t talk about it, Bones.”

“Can’t. Interesting word there, Jim. Can’t.”

A look on McCoy’s face appeared that Jim had seen many times. A self-satisfied, but kind, smirk.

“It’s no secret that I don’t get the appeal, but I know you care about him a lot. Just don’t forget what he is. I hate seeing you get hurt.”

Jim stared at McCoy, dumbfounded. “Bones, how--”

McCoy’s smirk grew wider. “Jim, c’mon. Nothing can separate the two of you.”

Jim sighed and tilted his head back to look at the ceiling. “No one hears of this, alright? Especially for his sake.”

“Of course. Strict doctor patient confidentiality. If you hear anything out of Engineering, I had nothing to do with it.”

“Oh?,” Jim leaned forward with interest.

“I guess they’re more careful around you, but they tease Spock about it all the time. Sayin’ your chess games determine--well, I don’t think you need to hear the joke.”

Jim chuckled and finished his drink. “Guess I’ll have to keep my ears open. Thank you, Bones.”

“Before I leave, Jim, I have to ask: what the hell?”

What the hell. Jim had never limited his affections; wonderful people came in all forms and identities. He had been privileged enough to exchange ideas with those much more advanced than himself, and bask in the beauty of some of the most charming creatures in the universe. Why should a Vulcan be the object of such intense devotion?

But Spock, for all his restraint, was devoted as well. His loyalty to the Federation, Starfleet, and his captain was beyond measure. He held a deep curiosity about the universe and a strong drive to see everything in it. Above all, he was gentle, and good. He had a rich inner life that he kept tightly locked away. Only Jim was permitted to see.

McCoy still stood waiting, smiling, knowing. Jim shrugged.

“What can I say, Bones. I know a different side of him.”


	2. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

 

“Mr. Spock, report to my quarters immediately.”

“Acknowledged.” 

Spock’s mouth ran dry.  He had not been alone with the captain for several days.  It was difficult enough for him to temper his own emotions, let alone those of Jim Kirk.  And losing control was an indulgence he could not allow.  

When Spock entered Jim’s quarters, he saw him sitting in front of his desktop monitor.  He looked troubled.

“Is everything alright, Captain?”

“Take a seat, Mr. Spock.”

After Spock did so, Jim leaned forward.  Spock did not like the uneasiness he felt.  “We have orders from Starfleet Command to conduct a recovery mission on Nazareth.  Are you familiar with the planet?”

He nodded.  “I know what there is to know.  Little communication has taken place since its independence from America, and thus the Federation, in 2171.  It was colonized in 2161 as a reactionary response to the formation of the Federation.  It was founded by a group of Americans who believed that the Federation was yet another step-- ”

Jim held up his hand.  “Thank you, Mr. Spock.  Any idea what the conditions on the planet look like now?”

“Bleak, though a Nazarene would likely vehemently deny this.  The planet is hot and arid, with little water or food to support the number of people there.  Technological progress has stalled, if not regressed.”

Jim stared at his hands. “Influenza and norovirus have been killing people there in droves.”

Spock tilted his brow.  “Unfortunate, considering those diseases are easily managed, and have been eradicated on all Federation colonies.”

"The Federation thought so as well.  Nazareth agreed to receive a small relief team, on the condition that Starfleet involvement was as minimal as possible.  The team was composed of a dozen Federation citizens, just enough to distribute clean water and immunizations.”

“Since our mission is one of recovery, I take it this did not go well.”

Jim sighed sadly.  “No.  They were all killed yesterday.”

“Any indication of motive?  Nazarenes have a tendency toward xenophobia, but they did agree to Federation involvement.”

"Determining that is part of our mission.  And Spock--”

When their eyes met, Spock felt pain.  “The relief team was composed of two human Starfleet security officers, and ten Vulcans from the Vulcan Science Academy.  A volunteer group of medical students and their instructor.”

Spock was quiet for a moment.  “Those diseases could have been easily treated by students, and the students would not have been susceptible to them.  Nazareth has a similar atmosphere and climate to Vulcan.  It would have been a unique learning opportunity.”

Jim reached for Spock’s arm instinctively, but stopped before making contact.  He returned it to his side.  “Did you feel anything from them?”    

He shook his head.  “No, Captain.  The number of deaths must have been too little at our present distance.”  A horrible, heavy emotion sat like a stone in Spock’s gut.  Guilt.  Maybe his telepathic abilities were weakening.  Maybe he had been too preoccupied.

“You don’t have to come with us.”

Spock looked up.  “Captain?”

“You don’t have to be part of the away team.  Stay onboard.”

“Those are my people.  As the nearest living Vulcan, I am obliged to provide them with a traditional burial.”  

"Spock, please understand.  Nazarenes have outdated weaponry.  The relief team was killed by an automatic rifle.  It will be a gruesome sight.”

"I am prepared for that.”

"We also can’t rule out that they were killed simply for being Vulcans and the Starfleet officers were collateral damage.  I can’t risk losing you.”

“Jim, please do not let your personal feelings sway your command.”

Jim bit his lower lip.  He had a right to be concerned about Spock, but he could not deny the logic in Spock’s statement.

“Alright, Spock.  You’re right as usual.  Just...be careful.”

Spock pressed his lips together tightly.  “I always am, Captain.”

***

The away team composed of Jim, Spock, McCoy, and the resident American history expert Lieutenant Cassandra Begay.  Before they headed to the transporter room, she briefed them on everything there was to know about the planet Nazareth.

She explained that Nazareth had been colonized by far right Americans who, already feeling that the United Earth Government did not reflect their values, feared the influence of other countries and worlds under the Federation.  Having received backing from notable senators and conservative billionaires, around a hundred Americans started new lives on the small planet.  However, Nazareth never produced the mineral and oil supplies that were believed to be there, and the wealth quickly left.  The colonists were left destitute and in anarchy.  Now factions controlled different regions, providing services in exchange for favors.  It looked, in many ways, like the Ancient West.

“What are the major safety concerns, Lieutenant?”  Jim asked.

“Unfortunately we already know they have a lot of weaponry and are suspicious of the Federation.  It’s also incredibly hot--temperatures can reach 125 degrees Fahrenheit in the summer, and their summers are 8 months long.  Other than that, I don’t know.  I wish I could tell you more, Captain.”  

“All good information.  Thank you, Lieutenant.”

They walked solemnly down the hall to the transporter, the weight of this assignment already apparent.  Jim turned around and instructed McCoy and Begay to continue on.  He and Mr. Spock would be there shortly.

Spock stopped walking.  He was unaware of any reason for this delay.  “Captain?”

"Do you have your hat?”  He was referring to the knit hat Spock wore to cover his Vulcan features on missions such as these.  Spock nodded.  

"Put it on.”

"I intended to do so once we reached the planet.”

"Do it now, please.”

Spock took the hat out of his pocket and pulled it over his head.  Jim adjusted it to cover Spock’s ears and the tips of his eyebrows.  “Thank you, Mr. Spock.”  

“Do you feel better now, Captain?”  Spock was touched by the gesture and had to contain the smile that threatened to cross his lips.

Jim stared at Spock for a while, his radiant, expressive eyes scanning Spock’s face from forehead to chin. “Yes, much better.”

They beamed down to the relief team’s last known coordinates, just outside the capital city of New Washington.

The heat was not as shocking as the sun.  The brightness was blinding, and the constantly evaporating water created small mirages on every horizon.  Around them were miles and miles of yellow sand and spiny shrubs.  Large rolling dunes were visible in the distance.    

“Good thing I bugged you all to bring plenty of water,” McCoy remarked.  He sounded more worried than self-righteous.

The sick, sweet smell of decay was amplified by the heat and hit the members of the away team with ferocity.  They exchanged glum glances.  Wordlessly they followed the scent, which would have been an easier task if not for Nazareth’s eerie stillness.  There was not even a hint of wind.  Grains of sand did not roll, branches did not sway.  There were no noises emanating from the town.  No low hum of machinery, no music.     

When a man shouted at them from the town’s edge, everyone in the team jumped, including the Vulcan.  They reached for their phasers.  

The man kept towards them, carrying a sawed-off shotgun.  

"Hands up!  GET YOUR HANDS UP!”

Jim looked to his crew and nodded.  They raised their hands away from their hips.

The man was across from them now, aiming the nose of his gun at them.  “Starfleet?”

“Yes.  I am Captain James Kirk of the USS _Enterprise_.  The Federation sent us to recover the bodies and materials of the medical team.  This is my first officer Mr. Spock, ship’s surgeon Dr. McCoy, and American history expert Lieutenant Begay.”

The man stood down, but kept the firearm pointed vaguely in their direction.  Without the weapon, he would not have been very intimidating.  He was rail thin and had been aged dramatically by the sun.  He had few teeth.  “Y’all here to cause trouble?”

“Not at all.  We simply want to get our people and belongings.  We would like to ask--”

The man cut Jim off.  “We won’t talk.”

“You must understand that members of the Federation--our citizens, our brothers--were killed here, and that requires an investigation.”

“You won’t find snitches around here.”  Many of the original colonists had been from the American South and Plains regions, giving Nazarene speech a languid, slurred quality.  It was not dissimilar from the way McCoy sounded when he had too much to drink.

“We are not trying to create ‘snitches.’  We only wish to bring closure to the families of these victims.”  Spock could sense the frustration growing within Jim, and he anticipated that he may need to step in.  

The man stared at them for a while.  He then put his gun away, to the collective relief of the away team.  “Y’all can ask around, but I can’t promise what will happen if you ask the wrong question to the wrong person.”  

Jim spoke.  “Understood.  Can I ask your name?”

The man shook his head.  “Naw.  I don’t want nothin’ to do with this.”  With that, he left them.

Once the man was a comfortable distance away, Spock turned to Lieutenant Begay.  “How do you interpret our welcome?”

She blinked several times as she collected herself.  “Nazareth has no official government, so there are no delegates or representatives for us to talk to.  I think we can anticipate a lot of well-armed and suspicious citizens, but according to the relief team’s reports, many people accepted assistance and were grateful.”

“Some of those grateful citizens took no issue with killing the last Federation members they saw.”  Jim turned to every one of his away team members, wearing his usual look of determination.  “First let’s find our people and see what the situation looks like.  Once we have performed our recovery duties, we can start knocking on doors.  There’s no organization to this society at all, Lieutenant?”

“Only criminal, as far as I know.”

He raised his eyebrows.  “Well, that’s something.  Let’s go.”

They began walking westward.  Soon a torn tent bearing the United Federation of Planets emblem came into view.  Shortly after that, the first body appeared: a human male in his mid to late thirties.  His red uniform shirt beared the Starfleet symbol.  McCoy knelt down to examine him.  “Three bullet wounds in the chest.”

Realizing they were surrounded by bodies, the away team fanned out to view them.  McCoy examined all of them and recorded their approximate cause of death.  All gunshots in various locations.  Homicide, each and every one.

“Weren’t there twelve of them, Jim?”  

“According to the records.”

“I only count eleven.”

Begay and Spock confirmed the physician’s count.  Jim furrowed his eyebrows.  “Our orders were to recover all twelve of the confirmed deceased.  Maybe the last body isn’t with the others.”

With a slight pull on the arm, Spock took Jim aside.  “Captain, if you take the Doctor and Lieutenant Begay to explore New Washington, I will begin preparations for the dead.”

“Negative.  I won’t leave you here by yourself.”

“Please, Captain.  I would appreciate it.”

Jim stared at Spock with consideration.  He knew how important this mission was for him, for the family of the deceased Vulcans, but he did not like the thought of leaving Spock unattended in potentially hostile territory.  

He heard something.  He was not sure if it was Spock’s thoughts or his own interpretation of what Spock might be thinking.   _Jim, I need to be alone._

Jim frowned with reluctance.  “Alright.  Do what you need to do.  McCoy, Begay, and I will start asking the locals what they know about this.  We’ll keep an eye out for the twelfth body as well.  Call me at the first sign of trouble.”

“Aye, Captain.”   _Thank you._

Spock watched the rest of the away team walk into New Washington.  Once they were out of sight, he turned his attention to the dead before him.  

On and around each Vulcan body was green blood that had dried almost black.  Some of them had been shot in the head, the subsequent clefts obscuring their facial features.  He had heard humans describe Vulcans as beautiful; his people did pride themselves on their grace.  But underneath that grace and culture and years of evolution was still flesh and blood and bone.  His stomach churned.  There was no beauty here.  No logic to this.

He took a shovel from their supplies and struck the earth.  It did not give way.  He tried again, using more muscle this time.  The shovel made an awful screeching sound against the rock.  He did not need his tricorder to tell him that Nazareth was composed of caliche.  He took a deep breath and performed another blow, this time chipping into the rock with success.  

The sun was unrelenting, and his head throbbed.  He kept going, each blow stronger than the last.  They deserved better than this, deserved better than to be shot down with barbaric bullets and left out in the open to have flies gather on their wounds.  Anger and grief threatened to constrict his chest in a cry.  He had to keep digging.

 


	3. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

“Vulcan.”

Spock turned with a start.  How had he allowed himself to be snuck up on?  Preoccupation.  Again.

A human girl, maybe sixteen or so, rose her hands in the universal gesture of goodwill.  “I’m not going to hurt you.”

She was short and lean, with fine blonde hair that hung limply around her shoulders.  Her eyes were deepset and near black, giving her an austere appearance.  Though tanned and sunburnt, there was a wan nature to her skin that led Spock to believe she was ill.

He kept his hand close to his phaser.  “Vulcan?  What do you mean?”

She kept her hands up and eyes on him.  “You’re wearing a beanie and it’s 112 degrees out.”

_ Fascinating.   _ “And you’re wearing a sweater and long skirt.”

If Spock was overwarm in his clothes, he could not imagine how a human was doing buried under such dark heavy clothing.  “Female modesty is expected on Nazareth, but no guy wears something like that around here.”

They stood across from one another tensely.  With a tilt of her head, she gestured to the dead.

“The ground here is too hard.  Even you’re not strong enough to bury them deep.  I will help you carry them to the old corn field.”  She pointed past Spock’s right shoulder.  “The nutrients ran out a long time ago, but the ground is softer.”

“Why would you help me?”

“I will do that, and turn in the man who did this.  On one condition.”

Spock took his hand off his phaser and nodded at her.  She lowered her arms.  “Take me with you.  I want asylum.”

The right words.  How a native Nazarene had come to know that phrase puzzled him.  

"Why should I trust you?”

She shrugged.  “If I were you, I wouldn’t.”

In that moment, he and the strange girl shared a moment of understanding.  Their stances relaxed.  

"There is something I want to show you before we do anything else.”

Before Spock could reply, the young woman began walking away.  He was still unsure of this situation, but if she was a threat, giving her back to him was a careless mistake.  He followed her.

When he looked down, he saw streaks of blackened emerald against the light sand.  The girl was following a winding path in the dirt.  She stopped at the first thing he had seen on Nazareth that approximated a tree.  On the other side of the tall contorted plant was another Vulcan body.

“He was still alive after he was shot.  I tried to stop the bleeding but couldn’t.  He died just a little while ago.”   

Spock knelt down next to him.  All of the Vulcans had been young with the exception of the instructor, and in her seventies she had been young by Vulcan standards.  While this man must have been the same age as his classmates, he looked younger still.  His features were rounded and childlike.  

“He gave me my flu shot.  He was really nice.”  The Nazarene’s voice was low and faint.

With just a glance, Spock understood this boy.  He must have been full of energy, not quite disciplined yet.  Excited to see a new world largely untouched by others, a world that would have seemed primitive to him.  Thrilled to have patients of his own, even if they were human.  

"I...I didn’t know if there was anything you could do for him.  Anything I don’t know about.”

He examined for life signs and found none.  The several towels around his abdomen were stained a dark green.  The hemorrhage had drained him of his color, but he still managed to look youthful and buoyant.  Spock could feel his throat tighten.

“No.  Nothing to do but bury him.”

Using the stretcher brought by the medical team, Spock and the young woman carried the bodies over to the field under her direction.  While he had been hoping to be alone with his fallen kind, the girl was quiet and unobtrusive.  They fell into a rhythm of work.   

With the merciless heat and hard labor, Spock began to feel exhausted.  He removed his uniform shirt and tied it around his waist, leaving him in a black tank top that was much more breathable.  He kept his hat on, irritating as it was, to be safe.  The girl had removed her sweater and tied up her hair.  With only a white t-shirt over her torso, Spock could see her body for what it was.  She had the lean, sinewy strength of someone overworked and undernourished.  

“You do not have to assist me.  You do not look well.”

“I’ve been burying bodies every damn day for weeks.  We’ll knock it out.  I can’t sit around and do nothing.”  Spock understood the sentiment.  

They continued to work together in silence.  Between them were many unasked questions, both knowing now was not the time.

There was, however, one question the Nazarene needed an answer to.

“What is your name?”

They laid the stretcher down by the last body to be moved, the boy under the tree.  “Spock.”

“Mine’s Constance.”

Jim’s voice rang out from the communicator.  Spock quickly answered.  “Captain, I was getting con--is everything alright?”

“We're okay, but that man was right.  These people are not comfortable talking to us.  Everything okay on your end?”

“Yes.  I have something waiting for you, but it is not urgent to explain.  I have also found the last body.”

“Understood, Mr. Spock.  We will join you momentarily.”

When his conversation with Jim ended, Spock looked to Constance.  “Do you believe they are in any danger?”

“I don’t think so.  Most people here are useless.  On the nod all the time.”

“‘On the nod?’”

“High.  Or drunk.  There ain’t much else to do.”

Spock scanned the twelve pale, contorted faces, the faces that once belonged to a mind but no longer.  The Vulcans’  _ katras _ , their essences, were too far gone to be retrievable.  Even if he could, he was one, and they were ten.

“This was not an organized effort?”

She shook her head with confidence.   “We haven’t had a government that could do shit in a long time, if that’s what you mean.  I promise to help you get the shooter, once I know I’m safe.”

They began digging the first grave when the rest of the away team returned.  Jim noticed the stranger and approached quickly.  “Mr. Spock, who is this?”

“This is Constance, one of the natives.  She seeks asylum.”

Jim shook her hand, ignoring how dirty it was.  “Constance, I’m Captain James Kirk.  Are you aware of what asylum entails?”  

“I’ll be leaving behind my brother and mother, sir.  I’m well aware.  I want out, Captain.  Please.”

He nodded.  “Very well.  How old are you?”

“Sixteen, sir.”

“What about your family?”

There was a brief flash of anguish in her eyes.  “They won’t understand, and I could be killed for even mentioning it.”

Jim was not thrilled about the potential fallout of taking a minor from her home planet.  Humanitarianism was imbued with politics.  It was a lesson he had learned the hard way...and often needed reinforced the hard way.

It was clear that she was in need.  

“Well, Spock, putting a refugee to work is a new level of oblivious for you.”  McCoy read her vitals and shook his head.  “When was the last time you had anything to eat or drink?”

Before Spock could defend himself, the girl spoke.  “I wanted to help bury them.  They gave me and brother medicine.  I owed it to them.”

McCoy took the shovel from her hands and replaced it with a water bottle.  “You’re dehydrated.  Sit down in the shade and drink.  Doctor’s orders.”

She glanced at Spock, who gave her an approving look.  “Thank you, Constance, but the doctor is right.”

When she was out of earshot, the away team convened.  Spock was the first to speak.  “Captain, she claims that she can turn in the man who did this, if we protect her in return.”

Begay looked at Spock with confusion.  “How did she become involved in this?”

“She approached me.  She had been trying to save one of the medical students.  That is why the last body was apart from the others.”  

Jim looked at the pile of the dead for as long as he could handle.  “Can we trust her?”

McCoy was aghast.  “She’s a child, Jim!  A starving one at that.  Look at her!  Even if there’s something nefarious going on here we  _ have _ to address that.  She asked for our help.”

Bones was right, those were the facts; they could speculate on motives later.  Jim was relieved to hear it from someone else.  “I guess there’s nothing to do now but dig.”

They buried the two human Starfleet officers first.  Using the manifest on Spock’s tricorder, Jim wrote their names on stones and placed the stones on their graves.  They began preparing graves for the Vulcans next.

The muscles in McCoy’s back burned, and sweat dripped from his bangs to the ground.   _ This goddamn place is hotter than Vulcan.   _ His body began to shake.  However, he wanted to do right by the people who had given their lives. He also did  _ not _ want to call attention to the fact that he was the oldest member.  He kept digging.

Constance approached him.  “Let me take over for a while.”

McCoy shook his head.  “Absolutely not.”

“I know what I’m doing.”  The girl’s tone was sharp and commanding, taking McCoy by surprise.

Jim looked over to them.  “Bones, you’re the last one of us who should be passing out.  Let her trade you.  That’s an order.”

McCoy returned her shovel with hesitation.  “If you start feeling dizzy, let me know right away.”

“Thank you, but I’ll be fine.”

Constance was strong and persistent.  Soon she and Spock were outpacing the others.  Spock in particular was working quickly.  He used every ounce of his preternatural strength to power through the soil.  It had been a long time since he had pushed his body to this point.  Every muscle burned from overuse, but it was a welcome distraction from the heaviness of his heart.  

After their skin had been caked in sweat and dirt and their palms blistered, the away team had buried their fallen.  At his request, Spock was left alone to perform the Vulcan burial rights.  The rest of the team and the Nazarene sat under the tent to eat.

“You should convince him to eat something, Jim.”  

Jim watched Spock with concern.  “He won’t, Bones.  Not until he’s ready.”

Begay removed a sandwich from their supply bag and extended it to Constance.  “This is peanut butter.  Are you familiar with it?”

Constance nodded shyly.  “Yes.  We had a large amount of it before the famine.  Thank you.”

She ate through one sandwich and stared at the bag longingly, though she said nothing.  Jim noticed and handed her another.  “You say you know the man who did this?”

“He’s my father.”

A surprised silence fell over the group.  Begay spoke first.  “Why would he do such a thing?”

Constance stopped chewing.  “He hates the Federation, most everyone here does.  We are taught to hate Vulcans especially, because they don’t believe in a creator.”

Begay knit her brows together.  “Then why did you agree to Federation assistance?”

“Because bodies are dropping faster than they can be buried.  We just finished digging a mass open grave on the edge of town.  You can’t imagine how it smells in the middle of the afternoon.”  Her tone was growing angry, though the anger seemed directed to no one in particular.  “I don’t think anyone else had the intention of harming the Vulcans.  We’re desperate.  I haven’t had any meat or anything green in two years.  I don’t recognize my body.”

McCoy attempted to hand the girl a tissue to wipe her eyes.  She declined.  “My father has always bought the propaganda.  He still thinks Nazareth is blessed.  We are suffering now like the Jews in the desert and the Federation are the Egyptians.  Maybe it’s how he deals with this shit...I don’t know.  What I do know is that he will try to kill you if he sees you in these uniforms.  You need my help to bring him in.”   

Jim pressed his lips together in thought, trying to find the right words.  He decided to be straight with her.  “You would turn in your own father to the Federation without hesitation?  I’m having difficulty believing that.”

“You must have a good relationship with your father, then.  And  _ I _ don’t hate Vulcans, for what it’s worth.”

He looked over his shoulder to see Spock preparing the traditional coals.   _ I wish you were hearing this.  I don’t know what to make of it. _

He turned his gaze to the young woman again.  “How do you propose we arrest your father?”

“Did you see Jason’s Pub while you were in town?”

When Jim shook his head no, Constance continued.  “If you remove your uniform, I can take you directly to him.  I’ll say you’re interested in working with him.”

McCoy was concerned.  “That sounds like going into the belly of the beast completely vulnerable.”

“You can keep your weapons.  Everyone around here wears a gun of some sort.  And I know how to handle him.”

Jim considered it for a moment.  While the firearms on Nazareth were savage, they were no match for a phaser if he got the first shot.  And he wasn’t sure what other choice he had.  “We have no choice but to trust you.  I hope you realize that.”

She nodded with a seriousness that Jim interpreted as genuine.  She then looked at Begay.  “I’m sorry, but you will stick out too much.  I think you being with might cause a problem.”

Begay was taken aback at first.  She had never thought of her gender or skin color with anything but pride, but Nazareth was a different, and backwards, place.  The darkness of her skin was as damning as Spock’s pointed ears.  He could hide those, however.  She glanced at Jim, her eyes understanding.  “She’s right, Captain.  My presence will only harm our cause.”

“What, are there no people of color on Nazareth?” McCoy asked with his trademark incredulousness.  

“None.  They weren’t allowed.”  Constance replied, and they all sat in appalled silence.

“This is the Vulcan heart.  This is the Vulcan soul.  This is our way.”

They could not help but turn to watch Spock then.  Jim felt they were being voyeuristic, but curiosity was a strong motivator.  He thought the Vulcan culture was fascinating, and though he knew more about it than any other human on the  _ Enterprise _ , he still did not know much.  Along with the others, he watched as Spock poured water over the burning coals, steam rising to meet his face.

“Lord, I do not envy that man right now.”  McCoy said.  Jim didn’t either.  He couldn’t imagine how uncomfortable the heat from the coals was in this climate.  

“As it was at the time of the beginning, so it is now.”  Spock said.  He struck his ceremonial Vulcan metal with a hammer.  The clang rang out loudly.  Jim could feel it echo in his chest.

“Captain, you know Commander Spock better than anyone,” Begay started, “I have to ask, why do Vulcans cling to tradition when they are so proudly logical?  Honestly I’ve never understood that.”

_ You know Commander Spock better than anyone. _  Jim shifted his feet.  “I’m no expert, Lieutenant, but I think Mr. Spock would tell you that traditions reaffirm their connections to one another.”

He looked at the Nazarene girl.  She stared at Spock with mouth slightly agape, utterly transfixed.  

“Do you have a last name, Constance?”

She broke her view of Spock to meet Jim’s eyes.  “O’Connor.”

“How is it that you are so different from other Nazarenes, Ms. O’Connor?”

She sighed and played with the water bottle in her hands.  “My grandmother, my mom’s mom, taught me a lot things.  She came to hate living here, and she hated my father more.  She gave me illegal books so I could keep learning after I was forced out of school.”

Jim’s careful suspicion began to melt away.  “Where is she now?”

“Dead.  The flu killed her earlier this year.”

“I’m sorry.”

In her face, Jim saw the thin-lipped fortitude he had come to know so well in Spock.  “The flu has killed a lot of people around here.”

Spock joined the others.  His cheeks flushed a bright green.  Jim offered him a seat.

“No thank you, Captain.”

“Spock--”

“I assure you, I’m  _ fine _ , Captain.”

Jim had known Spock long enough to know the difference between “I’m fine” and “I’m  _ fine _ ,” with that slightly bothered emphasis, but Spock was not about to divulge the contents of his mind here.  Jim ignored it.  “Constance says the man responsible is her father.  Once you cool down, you and I will follow her to his whereabouts.  Bones and Begay will return to the ship.”

He looked at Spock’s face, searching for any sign of hesitation or doubt.  Instead, he saw only sad resignation.  “That seems appropriate.”

McCoy was on his feet.  “You sure about this, Jim?”

_ Far from it.   _ Jim nodded.  “Anything you would like us to investigate for your research, Bones?”

McCoy turned to the girl.  “While we were looking around New Washington several people offered to sell us something called junk.  What is it?”

“A drug.  It helps the days go by.  We make it from a local plant.”

“Like the opium poppy of Earth?”

She shrugged.  “I honestly don’t know.  I could bring you some.”

McCoy and Jim exchanged uncomfortable glances.  She spoke before they could protest.  “I can get it easily.  Drugs are not illegal here, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“If you could secure some for me to analyze, that would be beneficial.”    

Jim nodded in approval and pulled out his communicator.  “Transporter room, two to beam up.  Lock onto Doctor McCoy’s and Lieutenant Begay’s coordinates.”

When McCoy and Begay energized back onto the ship, Constance’s eyes grew wide.  She went to their former locations and felt the air with her fingers spread wide.  “They just  _ disappeared _ .”

“Their atoms are being reassembled onboard our starship.  It is a form of transportation,” Spock explained.  On her face he could see amazement transform into comprehension.  

Jim removed his uniform shirt and laid it with Spock’s on the medical materials left to be collected by the  _ Enterprise _ .  He looked at Spock, who appeared as tired as he had ever seen him.  If he could convince him to return to the ship, he would.  But Spock was stubborn, especially in admitting his own needs.

Constance pulled her sweater back over her head and let her hair down.  “Are we ready?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vulcan burial rights taken from "The Fire and the Rose" by David R. George.


	4. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**

Jim and Spock followed the girl down a dirt road that extended into the middle of town.  The buildings were built of brick and adobe and were in varying states of disrepair.  Some roads were paved, others not.  Parked in front of the rows of buildings were reconstructed automobiles, all different in their size and materials.  Overall, New Washington was a place of patchwork, a hastily assembled promise that never delivered.

An unconscious man lied across the road, his limbs straight and stiff.  Jim instinctively bent down to inspect him, but Constance stopped him.  She kicked the man’s boot, hard.

“Samson.”  No response.

She kicked him harder.  Jim and Spock winced in unison.  “Samson, get up.”

Jim reached out for her.  “Are you sure--”

She crouched down and formed a fist.  She placed the fist on the man’s chest and rubbed her knuckles against his sternum furiously.  He stirred and mumbled, but quickly returned to his stupor.   

She reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a small bag containing a grayish powder.  “This is junk, for your doctor,” she held it up for them to see, then tossed the baggie to Jim.  He placed it in his pocket.

“Is that man alright?”  Jim was not sure what he had just witnessed; he only knew it made him uncomfortable.  Perhaps Bones should have come with.

“Samson?  Yeah, he’s just nodding off.  He’ll wake up.”  

As they walked away, she realized what that must have looked like to outsiders.  She had never known anywhere else, but she could not imagine Vulcans living their lives this way.  She turned to face her company.  “This is just how things are around here.”  

She led them to a bar at the end of the road.  When she pulled the door open, tobacco smoke wafted outside.  Spock felt a tickle in his throat and fought hard to suppress a cough.  

The bartender, another leathery middle-aged man, looked up in surprise.  “Constance, what are you doing here?”

“These men want to buy guns.”

“And you’re handling that now?”

She gestured around the room.  “Someone has to.”  

The only occupants of the bar were two men sitting in a corner booth.  They stared blankly into their beers, cigarettes hanging from their lips.  

The trio walked to the back of the bar, where Constance directed them to a private room.  There a man with long salt and pepper hair and the same hard, gaunt look of Constance looked up from his drink.  The side of his mouth turned up.  “My first born.  Visiting me at work?”

She closed the door behind them.  “Put your guns on the table, Dad.”

“What?  Why?”  The bleary appearance of his eyes made it obvious that he was intoxicated.  Jim didn’t know if that gave them or the man the advantage.  

“Do it, before someone gets hurt.”  She placed herself in front of Jim and Spock, to their surprise.  

“What the hell are you talking about?”  He began to stand, prompting Jim to pull out his phaser.  The man looked at his daughter.  “What is this?”  His tone was seething.

“Mr. O’Connor, you are charged with the murder of twelve Federation citizens.”

The girl went for her father.  Spock reached out to grab her, but she moved quickly, reaching under her father’s jacket to remove two handguns.  She aimed them in his direction as she backed away to Spock’s side.

The man stared at her, his eyes steady and full of hate.  “What have you done to her?”

“You shouldn’t have killed all those people.”  Constance’s voice was firm, but underneath was the faintest current of sadness.

Jim kept his phaser level while opening his communicator with his free hand.  “Transporter room, four to beam up.”   

 

 


	5. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five**

Twenty-four hours ago Jim had received his orders from Starfleet command to conduct a recovery mission.  He had known nothing about Nazareth except the name.  He didn’t know how to begin tracking down the person or people responsible for killing twelve Federation citizens there.  Now the accused sat in his brig, and his daughter, the accuser, was aboard his ship.    

Asylum seekers were not new to the  _ Enterprise,  _ but a solitary minor was the first.  While the girl was nearing adulthood, bureaucratic and moral considerations demanded that she be cared for attentively.  Jim found himself, as he often did, calling a meeting between himself, Spock, and McCoy.  

“I don’t think we should restrict her movements, Jim.  She’s a teenager.  We should provide a nurturing environment for her, especially after all she’s been through.”  McCoy spoke softly but emphatically.

Jim nodded.  “I agree.  I think it would be best if we treated her as our guest, with the normal limits, of course.  Perhaps a non-official escort of sorts could keep on eye on her while giving her some freedom.  What do you think, Mr. Spock?”

“Captain, I am no expert on children.  However, from what I understand about trauma, I am in agreement.  If she senses that we are trying to control her, she may be reminded of the home she is trying to escape, and react poorly.”  Spock chose each word carefully.  Constance O’Connor was essential to convicting her father.  Though he would admit it to no one, most of the time not even himself, Spock longed to see that happen.

Jim turned to face Spock more directly.  “She seems to have taken a shine to you.  I think you are the best fit to get to know her.”

Spock balked.  “I was merely the first member of the group she interacted with.  Her comfort is only the result of familiarity.”

McCoy appeared similarly uncomfortable.  “I don’t know, Jim.  Spock doesn’t have the sympathetic nature she needs right now.”

“Now, wait a minute, Bones.”  Jim’s tone was slightly impatient.  “Mr. Spock has treated her with nothing but respect and interest, and I think she has responded well to that.  And if she already feels connected with Spock, why not support that?”

McCoy looked at them both and shook his head.  “You two.  Sometimes I don’t know why I bother.”  His tone was not unkind, but not happy either.

“Captain, I do not know the first thing about interacting with, let alone caring for, an adolescent girl.”

“Ah, it’s not so hard, Spock,” McCoy waved his hand dismissively, “by this age they can take of themselves, especially that one.  You just have to humor her and nurture her interests, which for some reason seems to include Vulcans.”

Jim couldn’t help but smile and look at Spock.  “They are very interesting.”    

Spock could feel his cheeks begin to burn.  He turned away from the other men.  “I will do my best, Captain.”

McCoy rolled his eyes.  “You two.”

 

***

Spock went to the guest quarters where Constance was staying.  He remained outside her door for a few seconds.  If this were an equation, a sample for analysis, a part to assemble, he could do it without hesitation.  But the prospect of interacting with new people, even the child on the other side of this door, always forced him to pause and gather himself.  

He ringed the door.  “Constance?”

“Come in.”

When he entered, he saw the young woman walking around the quarters, running her fingers along the wall.  Her clothes, dark and dusty, contrasted against the smooth white surfaces and purple light.  Her hands were black with what was, Spock realized to his horror, Vulcan blood.

Clean.  She would probably like to be clean.

“Has anyone demonstrated to you how to use the shower?”

She shook her head.  

He led her to the bathroom and walked her through the shower’s wave motion and voice command mechanisms.  The water temperature and pressure could be customized to her exact liking.  She stared.  “This is incredible.  I...I haven’t ever had running water.”

Clothes.  She would probably like new clothes.  

“If you would like to wash yourself, I will gather new items for you to wear.”

“Thank you.”  Her soft drawl was not much more than a whisper.  “That sounds nice.”

He went to the bridge, where it felt very strange to see Chekov at the science officer post while he was doing errands for a child.

“Lieutenant Uhura.”

The communications officer turned her chair around to face him.  “Yes, Mr. Spock?”

"I have no doubt you’ve heard about the presence of an asylum seeker on board.”

“Yes, sir, I’m aware.”

“She came aboard with nothing and her clothes are soiled.  She is around your height.  I was wondering if she may borrow some clothes of yours.”

Uhura smiled her dazzling, beautiful smile.  If Spock were another man, he would find her irresistible.  “Of course.  I will meet you at my quarters in a few minutes.  It’s a very sweet thing you’re doing.”

“I’m just following orders, Lieutenant.”

Uhura provided him with an armful of clothes.  He did not comprehend her process, which seemed unnecessarily elaborate.  She deemed some dresses too “revealing” for a minor, some dresses too “unfun.”  Certain tops could only be paired with certain bottoms.  When Spock left, he had no more understanding of human females than he had before.

He heard running water when he entered Constance’s quarters.  She was still showering, though he could admit little surprise.  He announced his presence in the bathroom.  “I will leave clothes on the counter for you.  There are a few things you need to know about the ship before you retire for the evening.”

“Okay, I’ll finish up.”

He waited in her living quarters, with his back turned to the bathroom.  The small room was not unlike his dorm room at the Academy.  It was just as spartan, though he was at least able to fill his dresser drawers with his own clothes.  The girl brought nothing to this room except her body, and the torn, stained outfit she would likely never want to see again.  

She entered the room.  With Uhura’s cobalt dress hanging loosely from her shoulders, her wet hair smoothed away from her face and her skin scrubbed pink, Spock could see how young she was.  She was almost unrecognizable.  

Seeing her arms again, sticking out bare and pale against the fabric, he was reminded of the term “painfully thin.”

Eat.  She would probably like to eat.

“Let me show you how to use the replicator.”

“Replicator?”

He motioned for her to follow.  “Making food for the four hundred and twenty-five people aboard the  _ Enterprise  _ would be a massive waste of resources and manpower.  Instead, the computer is able to assemble meals based on programmed components.  These meals mimic meals made by hand, and have the advantage of being tailored to nutritional needs.  For instance, my metabolic needs are greater than those of a human, thus my meals have been programmed to be more calorie dense.”

“What do you recommend I eat?”

“What would you like?”

“I can’t remember the last time I had anything other than boiled beans.”

Spock realized, with some chagrin, the inanity of his question.  He ordered the computer to generate  _ ulan _ soup.  Her eyes were wide with anticipation and intrigue as she watched the food materialize.  He carried it over to the table in her room.

“What is this?”

“A Vulcan dish.  Think of it as a spicy soup.”  He had heard many Terrans compare the bowl of root vegetables and spices to “curry,” but he knew she would not know the word.   She ate a spoonful.  A look of disbelief came over her face.  She ate another, then another.  At first she tried to maintain her table manners, but soon she was slurping every bit that she could.  Spock created another bowl for her, which she ate with similar gusto.

Constance had likely never known peppers and powders, certainly not in the way that Terrans or Vulcans did.  When she was finished, she looked at him with tears in her eyes.  She quickly wiped them away.

“I’m so sorry.  I don’t know why I’m crying.  I shouldn’t.”

Eating was a complicated experience for Vulcans.  On one hand, it was intrinsically sensual and pleasure-inducing.  On the other, it could not be avoided.  While fasting was a common practice among his kind, inevitably Vulcans had to eat, and thus be confronted with feeling.

“This must be an overwhelming experience for you,” was all he could manage to say.  

Suddenly the girl, who had been reticent but certainly not fearful, looked timid.  She kept her arms close to her body as her eyes seemed to assess him.  

Spock was confused.  “Have I done something to offend?”

She maintained her tense position for a while, but relaxed with every few seconds that passed.  She looked at him again.

“Do you...you don’t like girls, do you?”

That was not something he was prepared to hear.  “I beg your pardon?”

Her cheeks turned pink.  “I didn’t mean to say that.  It’s just, you’ve been so nice to me, and you haven’t pressured me to, you know,  _ give _ you anything.”

The thought had never remotely crossed his mind, and he realized that in the Nazarene’s world that made him unusual.  He felt something give way inside.  A tug, a sharp pain.  Maybe that was what humans described as the heart breaking.  “Whether I ‘like’ girls is irrelevant, Constance.  I am a Starfleet officer and, moreover, someone with decency.  I would never demand such a thing from you.”

She nodded and gave him a nervous smile.  “Thank you, Spock.  You, and everyone else here, has been so kind.  I don’t really understand it.”

He knew what she meant.  While pacifists, Vulcans were not exactly kind; Spock, with his human mother, knew how unkind they could be.  Only in Starfleet had he encountered the true gentleness of people, and only on the  _ Enterprise _ and through Jim had he learned of tenderness.  

“Your world has been small.  As a Federation citizen, you will be exposed to many beings and cultures.  You will learn many things and see peace and cooperation on an unprecedented scale.”

“A Federation citizen…,” she stared into her empty bowl, her face falling in contemplation.

“Do you require anything before I return to my post?”

She perked up.  “Could I get something to read?”

"There are thousands of articles and books to read.”

He stood and retrieved the PADD from the nightstand.  Bending over Constance, he showed her how to use the touchscreen to navigate the menu.  She could arrange material alphabetically, by subject, author name--

"Do you have any recommendations?”

He considered his answer for a while, then pulled it up on the PADD.  “This is a brief overview of Federation planets and their cultures.  It is required reading during the first semester at Starfleet Academy.  I think you will find it interesting, and useful.”

She took the device from him, much more gently than was needed, and went to her bed.  Lying on her stomach, she propped herself up on her elbows and lazily kicked her legs back and forth as she read.  Spock recognized the pose.  It was one he had assumed in his youth, and one Jim still assumed it when he read.

Before he left, he remembered regulation.  The off-limits areas that needed to be quoted verbatim.  “Constance, there are areas of the ship that non-authorized personnel--”

“Don’t worry about me.  I’ll be here.”  She smiled at him, and he believed her.

 


	6. Chapter Six

**Chapter Six**

As his second shift counterpart came to relieve him, a thought that had been brewing in Spock’s mind all day became overpowering.  He tried to ignore it once more, but when he reached his quarters, he found he could not go in.  He kept walking down the hall and took the turbolift to the belly of the ship.

He walked and walked until all that separated him from the man that had slaughtered ten of his own was an invisible barrier.  A barrier that could be deactivated with a push of a button.  

Spock was not frightened.  The man was.  Upon seeing Spock he stood with a jolt.  

“You’re a  _ Vulcan. _ ”  He spit out the word.  “Of course.  What kind of sick mind games are you playing with my daughter?  What else are you forcing her to do?”

Spock stood still as ever.  “Every action on her part has been voluntary.”

“ _ Lies.   _ She would never do this to me, to her people.”

“What, exactly, has she done to your people?”

“Condemned us to being ruled by freaks like you.”

Of all the derogatory words used to insult Spock over the years, “freak” was a human favorite.   _ A person, animal, or plant with an unusual physical abnormality. _  He approached the cell to get a better look at the man.  Ezekiel O’Connor stepped back and clutched his head.

“Don’t read my thoughts!”

That stopped Spock.  He raised a brow.  “I cannot do that, not standing away from you like this.  What else do you believe about Vulcans?  Why do you hate us so?”

“You will control our minds.  Steal our goods and rape our women.  You will not be satisfied until every human is enslaved or killed.  You and all other Federation animals walking around pretending to be people.  That is what you want, isn’t it?  The genocide of the human race!”  Droplets of spit flew as he spoke.

The absurdity would have been amusing had it not proven so deadly.  “Mr. O’Connor, from where did you learn all of this?”

“I just  _ know. _ ”

That was a phrase that bothered Spock more than any other.  This human assertion that actions could be formed on belief and called knowledge.  That because humans  _ felt _ a certain way, facts were not important.

Spock took a step closer.  In response, O’Connor took a step back.  He was terrified of Spock.  What a shock a Federation rehabilitation center would be.

“Mr. O’Connor, I actually pity you.”  Spock’s tone was composed by human standards, but to his Vulcan ears it was hostile.  He inhaled and exhaled through his nose before continuing.  “Education is not easy to acquire on your planet, nor is cultural exchange.  Fear of the unknown is necessary to survival.  But you allowed this fear to consume you and drive you to burning hatred and violence.  Perhaps you could have simply asked one of us about our abilities and intentions.  Instead, you chose to hate a people you actually know nothing about, based on nothing but our physical difference.  You will never see your home or children again, because you chose ignorance.  One day that realization will hit you with the same force with which your actions hit me.”

The man stared up at Spock, his mouth slightly open.  Spock could see in his eyes that he was overwhelmed, perhaps already seeing the reality of his situation.  

When Spock left the brig, Jim was coming down the hallway.  “I’m too late.  I knew you were coming down here.  What in the hell were you hoping to accomplish?”

“I needed to understand his motives.”

Jim looked at Spock, his eyes imploring and tender. “And do you?”

“No.  I knew it was unlikely, but I was hoping for something that made sense.”

“Terrorism never makes sense.”

Spock straightened, placing his hands behind his back.“Jim, I know that my Vulcan heritage can confuse and perturb humans.  That is not news to me.  But never before have I realized that my very appearance--just the notion that I do not look human, that I am different--can drive a human to want to end my existence, or the existence of Vulcans or other races entirely.  That man had never met me before, but he thought I was a monster.”  

Jim reached out and placed his hands on Spock’s upper arms.  He rubbed them gently, as had become his typical comforting move.  Spock never seemed to mind.  “It’s easy for those of us in the Federation to forget that bigotry exists, but we can’t afford to do that.  If this massacre is to teach us anything, it’s that there is much work to be done in advancing tolerance.  It’s what we have to do if those deaths are to have any meaning.”

Spock nodded in agreement.  Jim had a talent for finding the hope in any situation.  Jim smiled at him.  “Imagine, that man has probably wanted to be considered menacing his whole life, but the sight of those pointed ears was too much for him to handle.”  Spock allowed himself a small smile.  If he did not, he was going to crumble.

Jim realized he still had his hands on Spock’s arms and removed them bashfully.  “I’m sorry, Mr. Spock.  And I’m sorry for my comment earlier.  Sometimes I get ahead of myself and forget--”

“It’s quite alright, Jim.”  

“How is Constance doing?”

“She is adjusting well.”

Jim crossed his arms.  “I keep waiting for something to happen, as though this were a trap.  She has no problem with her father being held in the brig?”

“I’m sure she wrestles with the emotional and practical consequences of her actions.  I am also sure that she let go of the idea of who her father  _ should _ be a long time ago.”

Jim smiled.  “See, Spock, I knew you were the right man for this job.”

***

That night, Spock did not sleep well.  He did not sleep at all.

As he lied in bed, the dim light of his sun lamp illuminating a small corner of the room, images flashed in his mind.  He was seeing the boy--Steleck, the records told him--and other times, he was the boy.  He was Steleck, seeing despair and hopelessness and suffering on a scale never known to him before.  He was Steleck, nervously injecting immunizations into arms completely devoid of fat, cringing as his needle scraped bone.  He was Steleck, believing he could change what he saw before him.  He was Steleck, bleeding out, dying before he saw twenty-five.

When neither strumming the lute nor meditating nor reading brought Spock relief, he decided to do something he often put off.  

He called his mother.

The sight of her face brought a tranquility to his heart.  He was five again and she was reading to him, trying her best at Vulcan pronunciation.  At that age, he freely giggled at how odd she sounded.  He indulged in the memory for a moment, then set it aside.

“Mother.”

“Spock, what a lovely surprise.”  Her face was joyful, but changed when she realized Spock never called without purpose.  “What happened?”

“Has news of Nazareth reached Shi’Kahr?”

She sighed.  “Yes.  How gruesome.  The whole city is quiet with mourning.”

“The  _ Enterprise _ performed the recovery mission.”

When she realized what her son was saying, she was horrified.  “Oh Spock, don’t tell me you saw.”

“I did.  I helped bury them.”

Her eyes glistened with tears.  “I wish I could hug you, if you would let me.  How are you?”

Angry, disgusted, lonely, sad, exhausted.  He almost let himself say it.  But when the words were at his lips, he pulled them back.  “I’m fine.”

Amanda knew her son well enough to know she would not get anything better than “I’m fine.”  That did not mean, however, that he didn’t need her.

“I love you.”

He nodded.  “Take care, Mother.”

When he leaned forward to turn off the monitor, she called his name.  He looked down.

“Say hello to Jim for me.”

Amanda adored Jim and often signed off in this manner.  In his weakest moments, his loneliest nights, he thought about calling her and confessing everything: his fondness and longing for Jim, the guilt and confusion that consumed his days.  She would be accepting.  Moreover, she may even encourage this most human of behaviors.

He returned to his bed.  In the back of his mind he felt that Jim was fast asleep.  Every now and then, when he was awake and Jim was not, he saw the Iowa fields and sky full of stars that filled Jim’s dreams.  He saw himself, frequently.  He saw himself as Jim saw him: tall, impressive, gallant, reliable.  It was a far cry from the shy, nervous child he saw in his own dreams.

He thought about checking on Constance.  However, in all likelihood, the girl was peacefully slumbering after her overdue hot shower and meals.  And that was the best thing for her now.

This was not the first night that sleep had eluded Spock.  As a result, he had a distraction at the ready.  Pulling the PADD from his nightstand, he began practicing Klingon.  Where Vulcan was delicate and sing-song in nature, Klingon was coarse and guttural.  Pronouncing even basic words required forcing his glottis to constrict in odd ways.  It was not a musical language, but it was important, and challenging.  He needed to focus his attention on something.

Six months ago, in moments of such distress, he would have gone to Jim’s quarters.  He would not say in so many words that he needed comfort, and he would not have to.  They would play chess or work side by side.  They would talk; maybe about what was on Spock’s mind, maybe not.  He might even fall asleep, curled up in a chair.

That was before the series of events that brought them even closer together.  Before Jim was locked inside the body of a woman, with Spock and the bond they shared being his only hope for restoration.  Before the end of the mission was close enough that duty was not a convenient excuse for ignoring what lied, not so dormant, inside of them.  

He read the Klingon phrases out loud.

_ Jatlh.   _ Speak.

_ Jlyaj. _  I understand.  

_ Jlyajbe’.   _ I don’t understand.

***        

A ring from his monitor stirred Jim awake.  He hurriedly stumbled over from his bed and answered.  He was pleasantly surprised to see Amanda, Spock’s mother, though she appeared distressed.

“Hello Jim.  I’m sorry to bother you.  Is now a good time?”

It wasn’t, but he could not pass up the opportunity to speak with her.  “Now is good.  How can I help you?”

“I’m worried about Spock.”

Jim knew better than to get involved in Spock’s family affairs.  “I’m sorry, but any concern you have regarding--”

“Jim, please.”  Her voice broke.  “I’m coming to you because you know Spock as well as I do, probably better.  I know he’s struggling, and you and I both know he will never admit it.”

Jim sighed.  “What we witnessed on Nazareth was horrific.  I think we are all having a difficult time accepting it.”

Amanda shook her head.  “It’s different for Vulcans.  As a species they have a telepathic connection to one another.  It’s not as strong or direct as the connection formed with another individual, but it’s always there.  It allows them to be capable of great empathy.  I worry that Spock might be in a great deal of pain.  How is he?”

When Jim saw the concern and sadness in Amanda’s eyes, he had to tell her something.  “Well, you know how he is.  Stubborn as ever.  We do have a Nazarene asylum seeker on board who likes him and he’s been looking after her.  I think that will be a good project for him.”

Amanda tilted her head.  “Nazarene asylum seeker?”

“A girl, sixteen.”

Her face softened, and she looked proud.  “It may surprise you, but Spock has always been nurturing.  His pets always got so fat.”

Jim smiled.  “It’s not surprising to me.”

“Oh, Jim.  I don’t know what we would do without you.  Please take care of my son.”

“I will, Amanda.  I promise.”  

Jim adored Amanda.  Seeing her, even occasionally, was a welcome break from the often cold reality of being on a starship.  She was also the only other person in the universe who knew Spock as he did, and for that reason he never had to defend or explain him to her.  She was a mother through and through, and Jim found that comforting.

He could tell Spock was struggling.  Jim could feel him now, trying to distract himself from the chaos in his mind.  There were many reasons to be emotional as of late, and the emotions he was experiencing were hard ones to push back.

Under different circumstances, Jim would have gone straight to Spock’s quarters.  Now he thought that might hurt instead of help.  He had to remember that Spock could feel him, too.  


	7. Chapter Seven

**Chapter Seven**

At Jim’s request, they ate breakfast together in the mess hall.  He watched Spock eat his usual breakfast of salad and Vulcan tea.  That was the one of the oddest things about Spock, his affinity for salads in the morning.

“I could tell you didn’t sleep last night.  You’ve barely slept at all this week.”

Spock sipped his tea.  “A period that will pass.  I remind you that Vulcans can go long periods without rest.”

Jim lowered his voice to spare Spock from any eavesdroppers.  “I know you’re experiencing a lot of stress.  Do you want to talk about it?”

Spock adjusted uncomfortably.  He could not hide from Jim, which was a blessing and a curse.    “I sincerely hope that the Nazareth mission was the last mission of that nature we will have to endure.”

Jim nodded.  “I never want to bury people that young again.”

“Precisely, Captain.”

“We’ve been through a lot of awful things these past few years, but there have been some wonderful discoveries as well.”

There it was again, that typical James Kirk optimism.  Spock lifted his gaze to meet Jim’s.  When he saw Jim’s hazel eyes, his mind stood still, and his heart sped.  He looked back to his food.  

“What is the plan for the Nazarenes aboard our ship?”

Jim knew what had just transpired, for it transpired in him as well.  “In six days we will reach the next Starbase.  There Ezekiel O’Connor will be taken into custody.  Since he has confessed, hopefully he will take a plea agreement and spare us a trial so we can get back to Earth on time.  As for the girl, Captain Mishra has agreed to take her on the base.  It will be a more stable place for her while a foster home is arranged.”

Spock took Jim’s empty plate and stacked it on his.  “What should I do with her today, Captain?”

“Take her to Bones first thing.  We need to see if she’s healthy and gather data on the impact of Nazareth’s atmosphere on the human body.  And while you’re there, talk to Bones about your stress, would you?”

If sighing wasn’t such a dramatic display, Spock would do it now.  “Is that an order?”

“No, I won’t force you.  But Spock, whatever else there is between us, you are my first officer and most importantly my best friend.  Don’t push yourself too hard, for me.”  

Spock forced himself to look into Jim’s eyes again.  There was worry there.  He felt a slight twinge of guilt.  “For you, I will talk to the doctor.”

Jim was relieved.  Still, he would notify Bones beforehand.  Bones wouldn’t mind ordering Spock around, if need be.

*******

_ Sick Bay _

“A physical exam is necessary, for both your safety and the safety of the crew.”  McCoy explained to their young passenger.  “It will help us learn about your people, too.”

Constance looked at him apprehensively.  “What will it involve?”

McCoy was taken aback.  “Don’t they have doctors on Nazareth?”

“Kind of.  Healers is what we call them.”

“Ah, so snake oil salesmen.”

“Snake oil?”  

Spock interjected.  “A colloquial American expression.  What the doctor means to say is that you have not been exposed to scientific medicine, and we would like to see how this has affected you, and help you if need be.”

“So shots and pills, things like that?”

McCoy nodded.  “If we need.  But the first step is a thorough physical exam.  I’ll have to ask you questions, look at your body, test your blood.  It can be uncomfortable but I promise it’s for your benefit.”

She considered it a moment.  “Can Spock stay here with me?”

Spock crossed his arms.  “Constance, I do not--”

The doctor shot him a quick, sharp glance before looking at Constance with compassion.  “If that would make you more comfortable, absolutely.”

Constance nodded.  “Alright.  I think I can do that.”

McCoy walked over to Spock and leaned in his ear, his voice a harsh whisper.  “The girl trusts you, you pointy-eared robot.”

He removed the conventional patient gown from a drawer and gently explained to Constance that she would need to change into it, and that he would need to see her naked body.  She appeared uncomfortable but nodded with comprehension.  When she returned from the bathroom he instructed her to sit on the exam bench.  He began with questions about her history: injuries, significant illnesses, troubling symptoms, family conditions.  When she did not understand a term he clarified it to the best of his ability.  Overall, she was educated enough to answer most questions.

“Now, I’m obligated to ask you questions you may find embarrassing, but anything you can tell me would be helpful.  Can you tell me how old you were when you got your first period?”  

She blushed and lowered her gaze.  “I’m sorry, Doctor, but I can’t…”

“Can Nurse Chapel ask you later?”  

Constance thought for a moment, then nodded.  She kept her eyes on the floor.  She looked impossibly small.

Spock stood in the corner and leaned against the wall, watching.

Before McCoy began his assessment, he stood in front of her and seemed to simply observe her breathing.  Constance glanced over at Spock.  He would never admit it, but he was unsure of what the doctor was doing.

“Your right shoulder is higher than the left, isn’t it?”

She shrugged.  “Yeah, I’ve noticed that before.”

He placed his hands on her shoulders.  She flinched slightly.  “I’m sorry, dear.”

That seemed to comfort her.  “It’s okay.”

“Take a deep breath.”

As she did so, he nodded.  “Definitely.  Does your back hurt?”

“I hurt all over.”

McCoy smiled.  “Okay, that was a dumb question.  As you start getting healthier, let me know if you’re still in pain.  I need to take a look at your back.”  Before he could walk behind her, she reached protectively for the gown’s ties at the back of her neck.  He stepped away.

“There’s...there’s something that you might shock you.”

“I’m a doctor, I’ve seen a lot of things.  It’s alright.”

She let down her hand.  McCoy pulled apart the slits of the gown.  “Oh, darlin’.  Who did this to you?”

"I did.”  She began to pick at her nails.  “On Nazareth, we are raised to be tough.  We aren’t allowed to cry.  My dad had us whip ourselves whenever we cried.”

McCoy motioned for Spock to come over.  He hesitated.  He did not want to see, but for that reason, he knew he should.  

He walked over.  McCoy stepped aside so that Spock could get a full view of the young woman’s scars.

They were wide, gnarled, and purple, like hellish roots that had sprouted from her skin.  The gashes that had created them must have healed poorly.  Or they never had time to heal before another cut was made.  

When Spock looked away, he met eyes with McCoy.  He did not need to touch McCoy to read his thoughts.   _ I was right about why the girl likes you. _

McCoy ran his fingers along her prominent spine.  “Scoliosis alright.  Moderate.  It might have been worsened by the lack of nutrition.  Starfleet can correct it for you.  We could also reduce the appearance of these scars.”  

“I’ll think about it.”  

Spock noted to himself that Constance likely had no concept of what surgery looked like with Federation medicine.  He would explain it to her later.

McCoy listened to her heart, lungs, and bowels.  Her reflexes were tested, as was her circulation.  She endured each adjustment with better composure than many Starfleet officers.  Still, seeing her swimming in her gown, her bones protruding from under her skin...Spock saw complete and total vulnerability, and it stirred something primal and protective in him that he did not anticipate.

“Alright, dear.  I have to take a sample of your blood now.”  McCoy stuck a needle in the antecubital space of her arm, which she received without flinching.  “I analyzed that sample you provided.  What did you call it again?”  

Spock knew this practice of healthcare workers, of provoking discussion to draw the patient’s attention away from the blood.  Both McCoy and Chapel continued to do it to him, though he had asked them to stop.

“Junk.”

“Right, junk.  It’s similar to a drug on Earth made from the opium poppy.  Before your blood goes to the lab, I need to ask you if you’ve been using it.  No need to feel ashamed.”

Constance watched her blood collect in the vial.  “Why would I feel ashamed?”

McCoy and Spock exchanged glances.  Spock looked at her.  “The doctor was just trying to make you comfortable to promote your honesty.  In many cultures the use of mind-altering substances is frowned upon.”

“Oh.  Well, I haven’t used all year.  It puts me to sleep and I’ve had too much work to do.  Taking care of my brother…”  Her gaze fell to the floor once more, and she seemed to have little interest in finishing her thought.

When her exam was complete, she returned to the bathroom to get dressed.  McCoy stood next to Spock, who anticipated a lecture about the Nazarenes’ harsh practices to eliminate emotions and an inevitable comparison to Vulcans.  

“Doesn’t that just break your heart into a million little pieces?”

It did.  “Even the most disciplined Vulcan is moved by the plight of a child.”

Instead of taking the opportunity to gloat, McCoy only nodded.  Spock was grateful.

“Jim tells me you’ve been stressed.  Dare I say, even anxious.”

The gratitude did not last long.  Spock closed his eyes in annoyance.  He did not want to appear vulnerable to anyone, let alone the chief medical officer.  He braced himself for what was coming.

“A strained first officer is a threat to the  _ Enterprise _ .”

“Yes, Doctor, I’m well aware.  However, I assure you I am well.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Spock turned to him.  “So you would take the word of another man over the report of your patient?”

“When it’s Jim Kirk telling me Mr. Spock needs something, I do.”

There was no more unstoppable force than the combination of Jim’s affection and McCoy’s professional concern.  “Yes, since I know I will not dissuade you.  I have not been sleeping well, and I am...physically taxed.”

“I have prescribed a mild sedative with the help of Dr. M’Benga.  In a human this dose would be pointless, but I know your highly advanced kind are more sensitive to drugs.”  McCoy removed a vial from one of the medical cabinets.

Spock tilted a brow warily.  “What is it?”

McCoy handed it to Spock.  “Good ol’ proxolam.  Doctor’s orders.”

“A _sedative_ , Doctor?”

The doctor rolled his eyes.  “It is the lowest possible dose you could take and get any effect.  But hey, you don’t have to take it.  Just keep doing that meditation that is apparently working so well, and when your mental faculties decline I’ll force you to stay here in Sick Bay.  With me.”

The fact that Jim had talked to McCoy behind his back grated Spock, but he could not fault him.  Jim knew him all too well.

***

“I finished that book you suggested.”

Constance picked up a pawn, stared at it for a moment, then put it back down.

“Did you find it useful?”  Spock pointed her to her next move.  She placed her pawn accordingly.

“Absolutely.  I had no idea so many different intelligent species existed.  I hope I meet many.”

“I am certain you will.”

She picked up another pawn and looked at Spock, who nodded.  She made her move.

“The part on Vulcan was very short, though.  I thought that was confusing.  Wasn’t Vulcan a founding member of the Federation?”

“It was, but we are private in our personal matters.”  Spock pushed his queen forward.

“Steleck told me that you believe in rejecting emotions.  Can I ask why?”  

“The goal is to preserve peace and advance knowledge.”

Constance relocated a knight.  It was not the next logical move, but at least she made it of her own accord.

“He also told me you don’t eat anything that comes from animals.  Is that true?”

“Yes.”  He took her knight.  “There is no need to cause undue suffering on other animals when plants provide adequate sustenance.”

She now gave Spock more attention than the chessboard.  “How humanlike are you, if you don’t mind me asking?  Do you have all the same body parts?”

“Yes, though they are arranged differently. We have some additional as well.”

She leaned forward.  “Like what?”

“A third eyelid.”

The girl’s eyes widened.  “Can I see?”

Spock felt, illogically, embarrassed.  He had made the mistake of demonstrating this ability to humans before.  “In my experience, humans do not react well to seeing it.”

“I can handle it.  I promise.”

If Constance was nothing else, she was inquisitive.  He leaned in and blinked.  When his eyes opened, a thin, venous membrane covered his dark irises.  

“Wow!” She shouted, an expression of delight.  “Can you see?”

“Very well.  Vulcans evolved these so we could navigate during our planet’s frequent dust storms.”

“That is the  _ coolest _ thing I’ve ever seen.”  Cool.  Old American English slang used to express approval.  He could tell he was going to have a hard time returning her interest to chess.  

She smiled at him, mesmerized.  “I wish I would’ve had those on Nazareth.”

In that moment Spock understood why Steleck had shared so much of Vulcan with this outworlder.  She wanted so badly to learn, and she feared little.  As she sat across from him, her features relaxed and softened, he saw the bright and curious eyes he had come to appreciate in humans.

He was not looking forward to where this conversation had to go.

“Constance, you do know what the plan is for your father, and yourself.”

“Yes, Captain Kirk told me this morning.”  

“How do you feel about it?”

She returned her gaze to the chessboard and frowned.  “The captain is interesting.  He has the authority here, but he is kind.  No one seems to fear him.”

Deflection.  A response meant to avoid emotional discussion.  “Captain Kirk treats his crew with respect.  That earns a far deeper loyalty than intimidation.”

When he saw the look in her eyes, Spock knew she was the last person who needed that explained.  “He told me that I’m in good hands with you.  That he trusts you with his life.”

It never became easier for Spock to hear himself described by Jim.  Each time his words provoked an affection and pride in Spock that had to be immediately quashed.  He leaned back in his chair.  “Do you have doubts as to my trustworthiness?”

Constance lifted her head.  “No.  He just told me that.  I didn’t need reassurance.”

"Why?”  The word was out from Spock’s lips before he could think about it.  He had been curious as to why this girl had attached herself to him.

She hugged her arms to her chest.  “Vulcans are stronger than humans as is, and you are a lot bigger than me.  If you had wanted to hurt me, you would have.  When we were burying those people, I could tell you were grieving.  You are nothing like the monsters I was told about.  You are like a human, just a quiet one.”

The Vulcan in Spock wanted to be offended, to worry about the implications of him being an obviously emotional being.  But with the descriptions “freak” and “monster” so recent in his mind, “quiet human” was welcome.

“Many humans find me hard-hearted.”  

“‘Hard-hearted.’” She scoffed, and it was a bitter, ugly sound.  “Than those humans must have had easy lives.”

Spock leaned forward now, just short of putting his elbows on the table.  “A word of advice, Constance.  Humans from Earth  _ have _ had easy lives, at least for the past century.  Religious and national differences have been set aside for the good of the planet.  Hunger has been eradicated, as have many diseases.  Terrans, as Vulcans call them, now live by a code of love and brotherhood.  Where Terrans still falter is their acceptance of differences in emotional expression.  Terrans enjoy frequent smiling, touching, and social gatherings, and have difficulty understanding those who do not share this.  It will be hard for you to understand them, and for them to understand you.  Do not take it personally.  You will eventually find your home, but it may take some time.”

She twirled a pawn between her fingers.  “You don’t consider Vulcan home?”

The question was innocent, but hearing it was painful, and the answer more painful still.  “Vulcan is where I grew up.  It will always be part of me, but I am an outsider there.  Part of my motivation for joining Starfleet was a desire to see life beyond Vulcan.”

“And do you feel at home here, on the  _ Enterprise _ ?  You can tell me if I’m getting too personal.”

It was a personal question, but Spock did not mind.  It was freeing to be open.  And it was for the young woman’s edification, he told himself.  “I did not realize until later in life that home need not be a place.  I hope you see that earlier than I did.”

 


	8. Chapter Eight

**Chapter Eight**

The medication allowed the muscles in Spock’s body to soften, but did nothing to soothe his mind.  He attempted every meditative method he knew, hoping to compound the serum’s effect.  He played the lyre, stretched, chanted, wrote.  He even tried the proverbial counting of sheep.  It all proved futile.  He saw the yellow sands of Nazareth stained greenish black with spilled Vulcan blood.  Bodies with gaping, dirty wounds.  Young faces turned gray and twisted.  He saw the knotted scars on Constance’s back.  He remembered being whipped, shot, held captive.  He remembered each time he thought Jim was lost.

It seemed the floodgates were open and open wide.  Instead of coaxing him to sleep, the medication lowered his emotional thresholds, exacerbating everything that prevented him from rest.  He regretted following McCoy’s orders.

When he felt tears in his eyes, he began to panic.  He could not believe he was being reduced to tears.  He sat upright in his bed, crossed his legs, and rested his palms on his knees.   _ Breathe.  In through the nose, out through the mouth.  _

“Spock?  Spock!  I’ve been out here for three minutes.”

It was Jim’s voice.  Had his door been chiming?  He hadn’t heard it at all.

“Enter.”

Jim did so.  He wore the gray sweatpants and white t-shirt he often wore to bed.  Spock turned to him meekly.  “Have I been preventing you from sleep?”

"Yeah.  I can’t get a wink with all the noise in your head.”  He sat on Spock’s bed, but was careful to keep adequate distance between them.  

“My apologies.”

“Don’t worry about it, Spock.  I’m just concerned about you.  Did you try that sedative McCoy prescribed?”

“Yes.  It is not helping.  In fact, I think it is making my...stress...worse.”

Jim looked around Spock’s quarters.  “Ever tried yoga?”

Spock thought about it for a moment, then shook his head.  “Not the Terran incarnation you are familiar with.  Vulcan has a similar form of moving meditation.  I have attempted it, to no avail.”

Jim moved from the bed to the floor.  “I always thought it was silly until I took a class in the Academy and fell in love with it.  Try it with me.”

“Jim--”

“C’mon, Spock.  It can’t hurt.”

Spock relented and sat down on the floor with Jim.  They adopted cross-legged positions.  Spock followed as Jim extended and compressed his body in a variety of positions.  As Jim found relaxation in the poses, the tranquility in his mind began to touch Spock’s.  The images of death slowed, then stopped.  Every now and then he paused his movements to watch Jim.  Jim was not as strong or flexible as a Vulcan, but he was able to glide in and out of poses with pure enjoyment.  Spock smiled before quickly removing it from his face.

When they finished and assumed the resting posture, their backs on the floor, there was stillness.  They closed their eyes.  Jim fell asleep there, his feet and hands extending as his body slipped into unconsciousness.  They touched Spock’s, ever so slightly.  Not wanting to disturb Jim, and finding comfort in the warmth of Jim’s body so close to his, Spock stayed there.

***

“Have you completed your report on Constance?”

McCoy did not look away from his computer.  “I turned it in.”

"I saw that, but I would like to hear the summary from you.”

“You do know that every crew member has to complete a physical at the end of the five year mission, right?  That’s over 400 people.  I don’t have time for this.”

“Doctor, please.”

McCoy rolled his eyes. “Fine.  Overall, she does not deviate much from a human from Earth.  Her red blood cell count is elevated, potentially due to Nazareth’s high altitude.  Her metabolic rate is slower; whether that is an adaptation or a result of starvation, I don’t know.  She is extremely iron and protein deficient.  I placed her on supplements and an appropriate diet.  In good health, all things considered.  Physically, at least.”

“Any underlying disease processes?  How was her tox screen?” 

McCoy shook his head.  “Her cortisol levels were off the charts, but so were mine after going to that place.  Tox screen was clear.  You know, Spock, I did write--”  He paused when he realized Spock might actually be concerned about her.  He smiled.  “You could adopt the girl, Spock.  By our standards she will be a minor for another two years.  She could use a parental figure.”

The corners of Spock’s mouth turned downward.  “A highly illogical suggestion, Doctor.”

McCoy kept his taunting smile.  “Yeah, you’re right.  She needs a lot more love than you could provide.  What are Vulcans like as parents, anyway?  I can’t imagine you hug your children or hang their art by the replicator.”

Spock looked at the lab results he had displayed on one of McCoy’s screens.  “Vulcan parents understand that physical contact and encouragement are essential to a child’s development.”

“Have you ever thought about having children?”  His tone was teasing, but he did wonder.  

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I am a Starfleet officer.”

“Well, I suppose that and the other thing.”

When Spock glared at him, eyebrow tilted high, McCoy realized he had gone too far.  He changed the subject.  “Are you still not sleeping well?”

“No, but I’m not taking another dose of that medication.”

“No medicine is going to erase your humanity.”

A flare of anger, perceptible even to McCoy, occurred on Spock’s face.  “What do you mean by that, Doctor?”

This was one of those instances where Spock’s pigheadedness made McCoy feel sorry for him.  “Spock, I’ve known you for several years.  I poke fun, but I know you  _ feel _ , even though you deny it.  I know how ashamed you are of your human side.  But burying your emotions is what’s making you sick.  You’ve seen some awful things, Spock.  You need to cry.”

Spock turned away from him, almost in a huff.  “Crying is your prescription?  Preposterous.”

McCoy shrugged.  “Or getting drunk, or talking to someone.  Anything that isn’t this stiff upper lip charade, because it’s not working.”   _ Or you could just let yourself be in love with Jim, you green-blooded dope. _

“To do any of those things would be a betrayal of my Vulcan heritage.”

_ Okay, I’ve had enough of this.   _ McCoy stepped closer.  “What do Vulcans talk to their mates about?”

“I fail to see--”

“Just answer the question.”

"Anything of relevance.”  Spock did not want to say that he wouldn’t know, as his parents were not the prototypical Vulcan couple.   

"Do Vulcans consider their mates to be their closest confidants?”

“Yes, of course.”

McCoy held his chin in an exaggerated fashion.  “So, if Vulcans talk to their mates about everything, it would be logical to assume that they talk to their mates when they feel vulnerable?”

Spock’s frown became more apparent.  “That is a fair assessment, but I do not need to remind you that I have no mate with which to speak.”

McCoy held up his hands.  “Ah, well, how about that.  I have to get back to my work now.  Good talking with you, as always.”


	9. Chapter Nine

**Chapter Nine**

_ Maj. _  Good.

_ Buy’ngop. _  Great news.

Spock found himself saying these phrases over and over.  He could not make them stick.  The sounds did not connect with their meaning.  Never before had he had such difficulty learning.  He could feel vexation stirring in his chest.  The PADD received the brunt of this as it was dropped from his hand to the floor.

Spock had not anticipated his bond with Jim to be this way.  

Beyond the obligatory Vulcan loyalty, he admired Jim as a captain.  Jim was decisive, driven, supportive, and moral.  While Spock had never had difficulty serving his superiors, Jim made the task easy.

When Jim made it his mission to convert Spock to friendship, a taciturn Spock found himself intrigued.  Humans usually gave up such a task when they realized the depths of Vulcan control.  No other human had continued to pursue Spock after a few days of his aloof conversation.  Jim, always intoxicated by a challenge, invited Spock to lunch after lunch, chess match after chess match, until the curiosity of  _ why _ a human would have this interest in him drove Spock to agree.

It did not take long for Spock to call Jim his friend.  Vulcans were social beings as all humanoids were--it was logical to establish partnerships to mutual benefit.  And Jim made a suitable, logical partner.

Jim had a predilection for casual touching.  It was a behavior that Spock had never before tolerated from humans; he found even brief contact distracting.  But if Jim was going to be his friend, and such a thing was common among human friends, Spock could accept it.  

That was what he told himself.  

Spock found that he liked, and looked forward to, the touching.  It caused him great shame, but the release of endorphins with each brush and hold was too much to resist.  

In hindsight, he should have never melded with Jim, not with these feelings.  The melds cemented and extended their link.  The thought of having such a bond with anyone else, even another Vulcan, was simply inconceivable.  This was his life now.

This was his life now.

Spock stood up and pulled a robe over his slender frame.  Carefully he walked down the hall to Jim’s quarters.  He tried to keep his astute hearing on the alert for footsteps, but he could not hear anything beyond his pulse.

“Jim.”  

“...Spock?”  Jim asked groggily.

“Yes.”

When Spock entered he saw Jim instinctively walking over to the drawer where he kept his uniforms.

“This a personal visit.”

That did not change the worried expression on Jim’s face.  “At this hour, Spock?  What happened?”

_ Lub dub lub dub lub dub.   _ It was loud enough to drive any man crazy.

Spock took Jim’s hand and unfolded his fingers, one by one.  Once Jim’s palm was flat, Spock laid his own on top of it.  

“Are you sure?”  Jim could barely muster a whisper.   

Spock nodded.  As they pressed their hands together, Spock could feel Jim’s pulse, his respirations, the blood rushing through his arteries.  The sensation of Jim’s body on his own was electrifying, and he felt every heartbeat in his smallest bones.  He did not know it could be this sensuous, so overwhelming and sublime.

They ran their fingers over each other’s palms and wrists.  With each stroke Spock grew more uncertain that he could come back from this, or that he would want to.  

Before Jim pulled him in for a kiss, he asked again.   _ Are you sure? _ _ Yes.  _

Vulcans did not kiss on the mouth like humans did, with tongue and desperate fervor.  When Jim’s lips met his, Spock’s knees near buckled at the sensation, and he wondered if Vulcans did not do this because it was so much, too much pleasure to be allowed, or if his human side was just starved for touch.

Before Jim pulled him into bed, he asked again.   _ Are you sure?  Yes. _

_ You...you will have to guide me. _

There were many things that Spock should have been thinking about in the night.  He should have been in the depths of shame, chastising himself for losing control and engaging in carnality, for  _ enjoying _ the moment of the sheerest, purest relief he had ever felt.  He should of heard his father’s warning that Starfleet would make him more human.  He should have been wondering what this meant for his career, his Vulcan identity, his life.

But his only thoughts were about Jim and his steady hands, Jim and the ineffable ability he had to make everything better.   

He thought about the absurd human insistence that their quarters be less than 27 degrees Celsius, and curled up next to Jim.  For warmth, of course.

There, in Jim’s quarters, Spock found quiet, and fell asleep.

 


	10. Chapter Ten

**Chapter Ten**

Spock awoke in darkness.  His eyes scanned for light before he remembered that he was not in his own quarters.  A surge of panic.  He needed to get to his room before the first shift began and crew members started roaming the halls.  He propped himself on his elbows and reached a foot to the ground.  

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“I need to get up, Jim.”

Jim looked at the clock.  “We have an hour before our shift begins.”  He wrapped Spock in his arms and pulled him back into bed.

Spock let it happen.  “You are incorrigible.”

“Sure am.”  Jim buried his face in the back of Spock’s neck.  Starfleet beds had never been conducive to sharing, especially when one’s bedmate was six feet tall and all limbs, but Jim embraced that now.  He breathed in the scent of him.  Lacking scent glands, Spock did not carry the salty, sour smell that humans did.  Instead he smelled of meditation, of smoke and something akin to sandalwood.  There was the faintest trace of his pumping metallic blood underneath it all.

Jim lifted his hand out from under the covers.  “Show me how that Vulcan kiss goes again.”

Spock could not resist if he had wanted to.  He rose his hand and extended his index and middle fingers.  Jim smiled and did the same.  Their fingers connected.

When they separated Spock quickly put his hand back between the sheets.  Jim noticed that he was almost completely buried in the bed.

"You really don’t like being cold, do you?”

“No.”  

It was a small, muffled response that made Jim chuckle.  “I always thought Bones was being his usual descriptive self when he said you had ice water in your veins.”

“In this matter Doctor McCoy was being almost literal.  By human standards my core temperature is cool.  Vulcans have evolved semi-permanent vasodilation to keep our bodies from overheating in our desert environment.”  

Jim nestled against him.  “I’ll just have to keep you warm then, won’t I?”

“That would be appreciated.”

Jim pulled himself closer against Spock’s back.  It struck him that this was real now.  Back to chest, skin to skin.  Finally he was holding  _ him _ \--his first officer, his best friend.  This strange, pointed creature who managed to embody both calm and insecurity, strength and fragility.  This mysterious and most benevolent man who owned his heart.  He wanted to say it, tell him everything, the words were right behind his teeth.  

He suspected Spock knew this all already.

The door chimed.  Spock sat up with a jolt and looked to Jim, eyes wide.  Jim mouthed “bathroom” and got out of bed himself.  

“Who is it?”

“Nurse Romero, sir.  I’m one of the second shift nurses.  I would like to give you report on an incident that happened last night.”

“I’ll be right with you.”  He hurriedly put on his uniform.  When Spock shut the bathroom door, Jim opened his for the nurse.  

He knew her face when he saw it, though he had not called it to mind when she said her name.  There were signs that she was frazzled: smudged mascara, prominent under eye circles, large pieces of hair falling from her bun.  Despite this she spoke with clear confidence.  “Sorry to disturb you, sir.  Doctor McCoy would be giving you report himself but he is still with dealing with the patient.  At 1230 last night the security officer stationed outside the brig heard vomiting.  He found Mr. O’Connor pale and vomiting profusely.  We responded and found out that he had been hiding the medication we administer for his alcohol withdrawal; he had taken several days worth at once.  He is in Sick Bay now, medically stable but growing agitated and belligerent.”

“McCoy has been dealing with this all night?”

“Yes sir.  He felt the situation was too...sensitive for anyone other than the CMO.”

“Thank you for your hard work.  Go get some sleep.”

When the doors shut, Jim rested his forehead against them.   _ Wonderful.  Just great. _

“SECURITY PERSONNEL TO SICK BAY.  CODE GRAY.  SECURITY PERSONNEL TO SICK BAY.”

_ Wonderful.   _ He straightened his uniform shirt and turned around.  Spock stood behind him as he often did, with his hands behind his back and his hair neat.  

“Well, Mr. Spock, looks like I’m going down to Sick Bay.”

“That would appear so, Captain.  Would you like me to go as well?”

“No.  Between a few security officers and a pissed off, sleep deprived Bones I think we’ll be okay.  Please tell Constance what has happened to her father.”

Spock nodded.  “Aye, Captain.”

***

Spock rang at Constance’s quarters.  He heard her turn on a light.

“Who is it?”

“Spock.”

“Come in.”

When the doors separated he saw her in bed, sheets still tightly curled around her.  She propped herself up on one elbow.  The room was dark, save for light coming from the lamp on her desk.  

She blinked a few times, trying to focus her vision on Spock.  He moved a chair to her bedside and lowered his body into it.  

She sat up further.  “Something bad happened.”

Spock nodded.  “Your father attempted suicide tonight.  He had been hiding his medication for several days.  Doctor McCoy has him stabilized in Sick Bay now.”

“He didn’t attempt suicide.”  She rubbed her eyes with her small fists.

Spock’s brow adopted its characteristic position.  “I do not understand.”

“If I know him, he had no intention of dying.  That’s why he insisted on getting pills instead of injections.  He just wanted to give y’all the finger.”  When they made eye contact, she saw Spock trying to piece together what she said.  “You know, the metaphorical finger.  Be an asshole.”  

She stretched out and looked at the ceiling.  Spock allowed for quiet time to pass between them.  Eventually she turned her head to look at him again.  “Is he alright?”

“He did not sustain any injuries.  However, he became combative in Sick Bay and required sedation and restraint.  When he awakes, you could see him, if you wish.”

She breathed out through pursed lips before shaking her head.  “No.  I think that would only make him angrier.  And it would be harder to move on from all of this, for me.  That probably makes me a bad person.”

“Why would that make you a bad person?”

She shrugged.  “He’s my father, my blood.  I should see him when he needs help.  You know what I mean?”

Spock brought his fingers to his chin.  “Yes.  Vulcans place similar value on blood relation, and the parent-child relationship is of the highest importance.”

Her eyes, a deep brown like his own, scanned him carefully.  “But you don’t believe that, do you?”

He crossed his arms tightly across his chest.  “No.  I see no reason why you should feel obliged to someone who has harmed you.  You are free to create your own family now.”

“Well, kind of.”  She smiled weakly at him and returned her head to the pillow.  “It’s not up to me, but I know anything has to be better.”

Spock was now certain of what he had to do.  “I have to begin my day.  Do you require anything?”

“Do you need me to do anything?  Or can I sleep in?”  Though she tried to hide it, he could see the distress in her eyes.  

“Please sleep.  I will check on you this afternoon.”

With fifteen minutes left before he had to report to the bridge, Spock diverted to his quarters.

***

When Jim arrived at Sick Bay, he walked into a mess.  A medical cart had been knocked over and a wide variety of tapes and gauzes were strewn across the floor.  Ezekiel O’Connor was slurring and struggling against the wrist restraints.  There was a security officer on each side of O’Connor’s bed.  Chapel was hurriedly typing into the computer.  

“Nurse, where’s McCoy?”

McCoy came around the corner at the mention of his name, brandishing a black eye.

“Damn Bones, that’s quite the shiner.”

"Courtesy of our patient over there.”

Jim watched as O’Connor fell deeper and deeper into unconsciousness while still pulling at the restraints.

“What happened?”

“Once we reversed the poisoning, he absolutely lost his mind.  He started screaming, throwing things.  He went after Chapel when I stepped in and earned this beauty.”  He pointed to his eye.  “We got him chemically and physically restrained now.”

Jim nodded.  “I can see that.  What’s the plan?”

“Jettison him.”

“Bones.”

McCoy sighed.  “Ethically and legally we can only keep him restrained for two hours.  We will observe him as he comes out of sedation; after that he will not need our care.”

“Good.”  Jim turned to the two security officers by O’Connor’s bed.  “When the medical team has cleared him, escort him to the brig and stay posted there.  Alert me the moment he becomes agitated again.”  

“Aye, Captain,” they answered in well-practiced unison.

Jim faced McCoy again and patted him on the shoulder.  “He’s out now.  You don’t think another physician or Nurse Chapel can take care of this?”

“No, Jim.  I want to be here when he wakes up.”

Jim thought he might say that.  “Alright.  Just remember, he’s your patient.  I can’t imagine the Board will be very forgiving if you punch him.”

“He wouldn’t be the first.”

One side of Jim’s mouth curled up in a smile.  “I know, and he deserves it.  But we have only three more days until we reach Regula.  Think you can control yourself until then?”

"That really, truly depends, Jim.”

McCoy never did fail to make Jim laugh.  “Get some sleep the first chance you get.”


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Chapter Eleven**

“Creating a vegan hotdish has been a challenge, but I think I finally got it.”  Jim pulled the pan from the replicator and brought it to the table.

Spock inspected the potato and corn dish with curiosity.  “Finally?  How long have you been trying?”

Jim smiled shyly.  “A while, Spock.  A while.”

They ate their dinner without speaking for some time.  Jim lifted his head.  “Is it alright?”

Spock raised his brows in response.  “What was that, Jim?”

“Your dinner.  You can tell me if you hate it.”

“It is...heavier than I am used to, but I do not mind the taste.”

“Are you sure?  You’re being even quieter than usual.”

Spock drank out of his glass.  “I have no logical reason to be dishonest about the quality of the food.”

Jim lifted the corner of his mouth.  “No, I suppose you don’t.”  

He sensed Spock was preoccupied, and preoccupied with something significant.  Yes, it was not about the food.

Spock must have felt them connect as well.  He looked into Jim’s eyes.  “I have arranged a foster family for Constance.”

Jim stopped midchew and swallowed.  He put his fork down.  “Can I ask why?”

“The placement program is not quick.  A match is made based on a variety of factors, including availability, distance, species, culture, and personality.  Constance’s education and physical health have been denied long enough.  The arrangement has yet to be approved by the Federation, but this family has fostered before.  I have no doubt it will go through, and Constance will not have to spend more time than is necessary on Regula.”

Jim looked at Spock tenderly.  “That was very caring of you.”

“I simply wanted to make the process more efficient.”

A large grin broke out on Jim’s face.  Spock’s cheeks felt warm at the sight.  “What are you doing, Jim?”

“Just looking at you.  Admiring your...cold, emotionless Vulcanhood.  Who are the foster parents?”

"Friends of my mother’s.  On Vulcan.”

“I bet Amanda is delighted.”  

“She seemed to be, yes.”

When he caught Jim still gazing at him, eyes large and soft, Spock had trouble suppressing his own smile, and Jim could see him press his lips together tightly.  A rich, warm sensation spread across them both.

Jim touched Spock’s knee under the table, but not before casting a look requesting permission.  

“Would you like to stay in my quarters again tonight?”

“I assumed I would be.”

Jim feigned offense.  “That’s rather presumptuous of you.”

Spock placed his hand over Jim’s.  “I have never been unwelcome here.”

“Mr. Spock, I think you’re flirting with me.”

“If I am, it’s because I learned from the best.”  Spock tilted a brow at him, his lips keeping in that fine smile.

If Jim had ever been happier, he did not know it then.

***

When Spock entered Constance’s quarters, he found her sitting on the floor in the half-lotus pose he had taught her.  The sight caused pride to stir in his chest before he stifled it.

She opened her eyes slowly, again as he had instructed.  “I’m trying out meditation.”

“And?”

She looked defeated.  “My mind doesn’t want to be quiet.”

“It grows easier with practice, and the practice never ends.”

“I have a lot of practice to do.”

“Constance, I am here for a serious reason.  I know of potential foster parents for you.”

Her eyes widened.  “I thought the Federation was going to start looking when I arrived on the station.”

Spock sat on the floor with her.  Constance watched with wonder as he effortlessly crossed his long legs in full lotus.    

“I took it upon myself.  This way, you can begin your new life sooner, and you have some connection already established.”

She looked up at him, her expression touched and nervous.  “Who are they?”

“Friends of my mother’s, T’Ra and T’Pai.”

She allowed herself a little smile.  “I would live on Vulcan.”

“Yes.  There is something else you should know before you agree to this: T’Ra and T’Pai are a same sex couple.”

Her smile remained, though she arched a brow.  “That is allowed?  It is punishable by death on Nazareth.”

“I know, that is why I am telling you now.  If you are not comfortable--”

“No, no.”  She appeared shy for a moment, a cast of pink emerging on her cheeks.  “It’s a surprise but...kind of a relief.”

She need not explain more than that.  Spock nodded.  “You will be accepted on Vulcan.  And if you are ever feeling out of place, a human will be nearby.”

“What do you mean?”

“My mother, Amanda, will be your neighbor.”

"You’re half human?  Why didn’t you tell me?”  She was unable to sit in the meditative pose any longer and stood upright.  

Spock lifted his brow in puzzlement.  “I’m telling you now.”

She laughed, a first for her in his company.  “Yeah, I guess so.”

“Would you like to meet your new parents?”

She blinked several times.  “What?  Now?”

“Yes.”

“Is anyone ever ready for something like that?”

Spock raised his shoulders in a slight shrug.  “I suppose not.”

She followed him to his quarters, where she watched attentively as he called her foster parents from his desktop.  Her knees bounced in anticipation.

T’Ra wore her long black hair tied away from her face.  T’Pai had silver hair that she kept cropped close to her scalp.  Like Spock, they were tall with regal bearing, and wore eyeshadow to highlight their distinctive brows.  Too dignified to be excited, they nodded politely.

“Spock, we have not seen you since you were a boy.  Seeing you now, grown and in a Starfleet uniform, is an interesting experience.”  T’Ra was neutral in her tone and expression.

“Yes, I have changed much since we last saw one another.”  He gestured to the young woman beside him.  “T’Ra and T’Pai, this is Constance O’Connor.”   

“It is good to meet you, I believe is the correct expression,” T’Pai said.  

“It’s, uh,”--a lump in her throat caught Constance’s words, and she had to swallow to continue-- “really good to meet you.”

T’Ra spoke next.  “We understand you have had a full physical and all necessary immunizations.”

Constance nodded.  “I have been very well taken care of.  I found out I may need surgery for my back and eyesight.”

“That can be arranged.  We would also like to make tutoring arrangements for you as soon as possible.  Can you explain your educational background?”

At this, her fidgeting picked up speed.  “It’s hard to describe.  There’s no formal education where I’m from.  There was a community school, but girls could not attend after they turned twelve.  Still, I learned to read and write and do basic algebra.  I did manage to teach myself some things, Earth and Federation history mostly.”

“The Vulcan educational system largely focuses on science.  What is your science education?”

Constance paused.  When Spock looked at her, he saw shame.  He touched her shoulder and she lifted her gaze.  “I...I don’t know much science.  Possession of anything that mentions the creation of the universe or evolution is punishable by death on my planet.  I do know some definitions.  I know what a cell is, what gravity is, stuff like that.”

T’Ra and T’Pai exchanged glances.  Constance could not read them like she could read Spock.  She braced herself for statements of disappointment.

"That is better than we anticipated.  You referred to Nazareth as ‘my planet.’  We would like to remind you that Vulcan is your planet now.”  

Spock heard the breath leave her lungs in a sharp exhale.  “Yes, thank you.”

“Do you have any questions for us?”

Constance thought for a moment.  “Do you share a family name?”

T’Ra nodded.  “Yes, we do; T’Pai took my name after marriage.  However, there are several sounds in the Vulcan language that English speakers, especially speakers of American English, find almost impossible to pronounce.  Our family name includes such sounds.  Spock can begin your instruction on this matter.”

They raised their hands in the Vulcan salute and Spock did the same in return.  Constance made a diligent assessment of Spock’s hand before performing the salute herself.

When they disconnected, Spock turned to Constance.  “While they appeared blunt by human standards, I assure you they are looking forward to your arrival.”

Constance breathed out for a long time, her body shaking slightly.  “They’re perfect.  Spock, how do I even begin to repay you?”

“There is no repayment necessary.  Part of my duty as a Vulcan and a Starfleet officer is to serve.”

“Then I promise I will do the same.”

When Spock looked at her, somehow so young and so old at the same time, he no longer saw a refugee.  He did not see someone battered and embittered by a lifetime of desperation and violence.  He saw hope, adventure, opportunity, bravery.  The enduring nature of the human spirit.

He saw the qualities he loved in Jim.

Realizing he was getting emotional, he took a deep breath and kept his gaze pointed away from her.  “That will be repayment enough.”


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Chapter Twelve**

“Is there something I should call you, in Vulcan?”

They were lying together, looking at Spock’s PADD which displayed the basic Klingon they both knew they should master.  Jim rested his temple against Spock’s shoulder.  

“What do you mean by ‘in Vulcan’?”  Hearing Jim mention anything about his homeworld made Spock tentative.  

“Pet names, terms of endearment.  Like how I call you ‘sweetheart.’”

Spock’s face reflected his confusion, and amusement.  “You called me ‘sweetheart’ before we were ever...involved.”

Jim smiled mischievously.  “It started as a joke at first.  I thought it was funny to give a silly nickname to such a tall, brooding man.  But once I got to know you, it just felt right.  You don’t mind, do you?”

“No,” Spock replied, and it was the truth.

“Anything I can use to replace it?”

Spock set the PADD in his lap.  Sharing such information with Jim was the sort of intimacy he both craved and feared.

“Vulcans, naturally, do not use terms of endearment as casually as humans do.  There are two that come to mind.  The first is  _ ashayam _ , which most approximates ‘beloved.’  However, when I think of you…”  Spock’s heart began running away from him.  He knew his reluctance was absurd; it was not as though Jim did not know how he felt about him.  He was learning, though, that reason had little place in this part of his life.

He continued.  “I prefer the term _ t’hy’la _ .  Vulcans use this to refer to anyone with whom we have a special bond.  I find it to be more all encompassing, more...adequate, for what we share.”

“Tuh-high-lah.”  Jim repeated, his expression melting as he sank into Spock’s chest.  His pronunciation was far from perfect.  The second syllable should have been stressed, the pauses more glottal, but coming from Jim, it sounded like home.

Jim felt thirsty and went to stand when Spock wrapped an arm around his waist and held him tight.

“I’m not allowed to leave?”

“I require your body heat.”

Jim rolled his eyes and smiled.  “I love you too.”

Spock’s chest suddenly stopped its natural rise and fall.  Jim, grasping what had happened, lifted his head to face Spock.  “Spock, I’m sorry.  That was insensitive of me.  I mean, it’s true, you know it’s true.  But I shouldn’t have been so casual about it.”

“It is quite alright, Jim.”  But Jim knew it wasn’t, really.  Spock’s body was still stiff, his breathing tightly controlled.  He could feel Spock trying to protect his thoughts.  

“You don’t have to say it back.  I know how difficult and confusing this must be for you.  Besides, I can feel it.  Asking for anything more would be greedy, wouldn’t it?”  He gave Spock the biggest smile he could manage.  If Spock did not respond to that, then he knew he was in trouble.

He listened and watched.  Spock’s breathing returned to normal and an ease came over his dark, almond eyes.  “I hope you understand it’s just the way I am.”

“I do understand.”   _ You’re a mess, sweetheart.  T’hy’la.  That’s okay, I am too. _ __

***

When the  _ Enterprise  _ docked at Starbase Regula, the first priority was getting Ezekiel O’Connor off the ship and in front of an attorney.

Jim went with the security team as they transported to the Starbase’s brig.  There awaited Captain Mishra and her security officers.  

O’Connor had a subdued air to him.  Since the incident in Sick Bay, he had grown quiet, only speaking when necessary.  It was a welcome development, but it also generated a sense of anxiety among the crew.

When Mishra’s officers approached, Jim held his breath.  Here is where things could go south.  He watched carefully as they explained O’Connor’s rights and grabbed a hold of his upper arms.  With gentle direction, he was placed in the cell.  They stepped out and put the barrier up.

Jim could hardly believe it.  Not a word, no struggle at all.

They began walking away.  Jim was treating Mishra to lunch, as a thank you for taking the Nazarenes.  He was also going to use the opportunity to see Constance’s quarters.

“Captain.”

Both Jim and Mishra turned.  He pointed at Jim.  “Him.”  

Jim looked to Mishra.  “I’ll meet you in your office.”

She nodded and walked away, taking her crewmembers with her.  With Jim’s approval, his officers beamed back onto their ship.  

“What is it, Mr. O’Connor?”

“My daughter was never mind-controlled by the Vulcan, was she?”  Behind the shaggy hair and grizzled jaw, Jim saw a man of slight build and small features.

“No.”

The man sighed and stared at the floor.  “She was always an unusual one.  I tried to raise her right, the way my dad raised me.  But she was so fucking stubborn, I could never get that rebellious streak out of her.  She acted so much like a boy all the time.  It was unnatural…”  He fell quiet for so long that Jim thought about saying something to encourage him on.  He resisted the urge, knowing the man might give him something he needed if he was patient.

“Do you have children, Captain?”

“No.”

O’Connor smiled a crude and hostile smile.  “Of course not.  I know how you Starfleet men are about family.  It is  _ unnecessary _ , second to your careers.  It’s a very selfish thing to do, to not have children.”

“Please get to your point.”  It was not the first time in Jim’s life that he had heard that, and he was getting tired of it.

“If we go to trial, Constance will testify.”

“Yes.”  

“And the jury will find her statement very convincing.”

“I believe that’s likely.”

O’Connor squared his shoulders.  “When Constance was born, I was so happy.  She was beautiful.  I knew she would be the perfect daughter.  Then she started school and everything fell to shit.  I knew we should have kept her at home, but my wife bitched and bitched about how girls needed to know some reading and writing.  So I was weak and listened to my wife.  Never do that.  Constance got all these ideas in her head.  When she was ten I found a book about Earth animals in her room.  It showed charts of evolution.  Evolution!  I was so goddamn angry I beat her black and blue.  She never did thank me for it.”

“ _ Thank _ you?”  Jim was hot with rage.

“She could have been killed!” O’Connor replied earnestly.  “I took a huge risk by punishing her myself.  If anyone found out I disciplined her instead of turning her over to the people, we both would’ve been shot.”

“ _ Goodbye _ , Mr. O’Connor.”

“Wait.  I’ll talk to your goddamn attorney about a plea.  I’ve been watching you work, Captain.  You seem like a man of action.  Not many true men left in the Federation.”

Jim approached the barrier slowly, placing one foot in front of the other.  When he and O’Connor were as close they could be, Jim spoke.  

“I’m married to a man.”

It wasn’t strictly true, of course, but it was worth it to see the look of defeat on O’Connor’s face.  

***

Constance clutched the handles of the Starfleet backpack to her chest.  Inside it were clothes, snacks, and mementos packed by various crewmembers who wanted to wish her well.

Spock, Jim, and McCoy escorted her to the transporter room.  She inhaled deeply while looking at the transporter.  The full backpack made her skinny frame appear even frailer.  

She turned to Spock first and smiled, her eyes gleaming as she did so.  It was the first time he had seen her look so childlike.

“Spock, I...I should hug you, but I know that you would probably find that uncomfortable.  I probably would too, actually.  But I want us to  _ want _ to hug each other.  Does that make sense?”

He nodded, neverminding the presence of the doctor or the ensign manning the transporter.  “More than you know.”

“Can I call you every now and then?”

“Of course.”

Jim smiled at them.  “What does the future hold for you, Ms. O’Connor?”

“I’m not sure.  I have a lot of learning to catch up on.  I think I would like to heal people, though.  Do what those Vulcans did on Nazareth.”

McCoy beamed.  “Starfleet could always use a good doctor.”

“Starfleet?  You think so, after all of this with my father?”

“I assure you, Constance, that Starfleet does not discriminate.”  Spock gave her that resolute look she had come to appreciate.  

Her smile extended.  “Maybe Starfleet one day, then.”

Jim and McCoy shook her hand.  She and Spock shared a knowing nod.

She held up her right hand, her fingers separated in pairs.  “ _ Dif tor heh smusma _ .”   

When she walked onto the transporter and turned to look at them all, she had the appearance of an energetic, intrepid teenager off to her first day of college.  Color had returned to her skin, and  the few pounds she managed to gain during her week on the  _ Enterprise  _ were most apparent in her face.  Having just seen her father, Jim had to remind himself they were related.  They looked nothing alike now.    

The last they saw of her were the particle traces of her waving hand.

"That is the sort of thing that makes this job worth it,” McCoy said.

Jim stood shoulder to shoulder with Spock, who watched the transporter with keen interest.  “Her Vulcan is miles ahead of mine.  She even got the rolled ‘r.’”

“I keep telling you, Captain, it is a motion of the breath, not the tongue.”

Jim placed his hand between Spock’s shoulder blades.  “You did well, Mr. Spock.”

“I hope she finds whatever she needs.”

Jim patted him softly.  “That is the hope for all of us.”

McCoy watched them before quickly turning to the ensign at the panel.  “Ensign Nissen, am I right?”

The young ensign lifted her eyes from the controls to McCoy.  “Yes?”

McCoy gestured to the door.  “I believe you’re behind on your physical schedule.”

A look of disbelief came over her face.  “Excuse me, Doctor, but I’m fairly certain I’m on schedule.  I only have the final physical left and that’s in two weeks.”

He shook his head.  “I don’t think so.  Humor me a moment?”

She looked to Jim who nodded in response.  “Go ahead, Ensign.”

When they were alone, Jim lowered his hand to the small of Spock’s back.  “Are you alright?”

Spock continued looking at the transporter.  “It is strange, Jim.  I knew her only a short while, yet seeing her leave, I feel--I anticipate missing her presence.”

“You met under traumatic circumstances.  That has a tendency to connect people.”

Jim felt a shudder under his fingertips as Spock sighed.  “I am  _ Vulcan _ .”

The word was heavy, too much so.  As though it were a lie.

“But you’re human.  Both human and Vulcan.  Why not strive to be the best of both?”  Jim stepped in front of Spock and moved his hands to frame Spock’s waist.  “I know how you feel on your bad days, how much you hate yourself.  It hurts me.  You are so remarkable, the best person I know.  You’re intelligent _ and _ emotional.  Is that so terrible?”  Jim’s right hand had migrated to cup Spock’s cheek.  His thumb rested on the corner of Spock’s mouth.

Spock kept his arms glued across his chest.  “Jim.”  It was a warning, but a halfhearted one that he knew Jim would ignore.

Jim placed his lips lightly on Spock’s.   _ It’s alright, sweetheart, t’hy’la.  I love you.  You don’t have to be strong around me. _

They shouldn’t be doing this, not here.  There were cameras.  If anything abnormal were to happen in this room, which was not unusual, crewmembers would need to review the visual records.

_ T’hy’la… _

But Spock was so tired of shoulds.   

He returned the kiss and let his forehead rest against Jim’s.   

_ Thank you. _

***

Spock stood outside McCoy’s quarters, holding his hands behind his back nervously.  McCoy had invited him over for a drink and refused to accept any of his attempts at declining.  

“Come on in, Spock.”

Spock did not display pictures of his family in his quarters; Jim had a single picture of his parents by his bed.  McCoy, however, had photos of his daughter and parents displayed on every wall.  

“I’m helping myself to some bourbon.  Care for some?”

“Doctor, you know I do not partake.”

McCoy poured his glass.  “I think I have some of that Vulcan port around here.  If I do, would that be satisfactory?”

“I would take a small amount.”

“Oh good.  Now sit down, would ya?  You’re making me crazy.”

Spock complied.  He had never had a friendly engagement with McCoy without Jim present, and the doctor’s insistence that Jim not be present tonight made him anxious.

The doctor pulled an old wine bottle from the back of a shelf.  Vulcan letters ran from top to bottom down the label.  “I hate port myself.  It’s so heavy and sweet, like drinking syrup.”

“It is largely ceremonial for us.  We do not drink it casually.”

“Well, consider this a first.”  McCoy handed him the wine in an aperitif glass.  

They sat at the table.  McCoy had his back against the wall and stared out at the rest of his quarters.  

“Once we get back to Earth, I’m going to resign.”

Spock had not even touched his port before McCoy was eyeing the bourbon bottle again.  What could he say?  “Resign, Doctor?”

McCoy swirled his drink.  “I’m tired.  Tired of signing death certificates for ensigns who are barely out of their teenage years.  Tired of ending up at places like Nazareth.  I need to see my daughter.  Being able to see her face on a screen but not hug her is worse than not seeing her at all.  And Lord, after the last few missions we’ve had, I need to hug her.”  

Spock was not sure why McCoy was choosing to share this with him.  Before he could ask, McCoy continued.  “What are your plans for when this is all over?”

Spock inhaled and sipped his port.  “I have not thought about it.”

“I don’t believe that for second.  In less than a month our five years are up.  There is no way  _ you _ haven’t thought about what to do next.”   __

Shame blanketed Spock, and he refused to look at McCoy.  “I have considered my options, but I have yet to reach a decision.”

“If I know Jim he’ll ask you to use some of your leave and join him in Iowa.  I’m sure he’s champing at the bit to show you off to his folks.”  

Spock raised his head in alarm.  “Doctor, I do not know what you--”

“It’s okay, Spock.  I know.”

Spock leaned back, but his expression remained tense.  “Did Jim tell you?”

“No, I figured it out.  Not that it was hard.”

_ Not that it was hard.   _ Spock had encountered the rumors, the jokes and whispers.  Before he had been able to brush them aside.  Before he never believed he and Jim would be together, that he would lose control and be the person that the rumors painted.

He finished the port.  How desperately he wished this conversation was not taking place.

McCoy turned to him and offered to refill his glass.  Spock shook his head.

“Can I give you some advice?”

“I would rather you did not.”

“Too bad, you’re getting it anyway.  Jim follows his heart.  He throws himself into whatever relationship he’s in without thinking about the consequences.  And you have a knack for sabotaging your own happiness.  I think if you both continue this, it will end badly.”

Spock straightened his back and frowned.  “I am returning to my quarters.”

He stood and began walking for the door.  McCoy grabbed his upper arm.  “I consider both of you my friends, but I’ve known Jim a long time and seen him through hell and back.  If you hurt him, I’m not sure I’ll ever forgive you.”

“Thank you for the drink, Doctor.”  His tone was as cold as McCoy had ever heard it.

“Think about it, Spock.  Think about what you’re going to do.”


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Chapter Thirteen**

_ “I tried to stop the bleeding.” _

_ The girl, in urgent desperation, had pressed a number of washcloths against the young man’s abdomen.  Her hands were stained green, as were the washcloths, as was the sand beneath his body.  His face was soft and round, like that of a child.  His skin, though, was unnaturally white. _

_ Spock reached for the young man’s face, but when he did so, he did not recognize his hand.  It was small and chubby.  There was no trace of his familiar calluses or dark body hair.   _

_ He felt helpless, panicked.  He burst into tears.  The girl tried to talk to him.  She cradled him, held his shoulders tightly.  She tried speaking to him in English, in Vulcan, but nothing made sense.  Under the oppressive sun the blood smelled strongly metallic, the lifeless skin sweet as bacteria began consuming it.  The tears would not relent, and he began feeling smaller and smaller as the rolling sands of the desert swallowed him whole. _

Spock sat up, gasping for breath.   His heart banged violently against his chest.  

“Baby?  Spock!”  Jim reached over and placed his hand on Spock’s shoulder.  He pressed his fingertips into the firm, knotted muscle underneath Spock’s skin.  Slowly, Spock began to regain control of his breath.  

“What happened?” Jim kept massaging Spock’s cramping shoulder.

“I had a nightmare.  A bad nightmare.”  Spock said each word between breaths.  

"Apparently.  I’m going to get you some water.”  

“No, Jim.  I’m fine.  Please just...just stay with me.”

In the darkness Jim could not make out Spock’s features, but he could feel the swift pattern of his heart.  “Alright.”  

Spock lied down and turned to his side, allowing Jim to weave an arm under his and rest his forehead lightly against the back of Spock’s neck.  Focusing on the regular rhythms of Jim’s breath and pulse, Spock managed to calm himself.

“What spooked you so badly?”

Spock cleared his throat.  “In my dream, I was a child, weak and impotent.  I tried to save Steleck, one of the Vulcan medical students, but all I could do was cry.”

Jim held him tightly.  “You did everything you could,  _ t’hy’la _ .”

“I realize that, Jim.  Thank you.”  There was so much Spock wanted to say.  He wanted to explain that the only time he felt whole and unquestioning was when he was with Jim.  He wanted assurance that this was acceptable, that this did not make him lesser than, that somehow and someway he could reconcile being held by Jim now with the traditions he held most dear.

He wanted to say that another part of him thought to  _ hell _ with tradition.   

But just imaging the conversation exhausted him, and he vastly preferred the silence of the night, only punctuated by Jim’s sweet breathing.

“Are you asleep?”

“No.”

“I was thinking,” Jim lifted his head and lowered it into the crook of Spock’s neck, “I’ve never really seen Vulcan.  I haven’t gone to the lava fields or the wilderness preserves.  Once the mission is done, we could go to Vulcan and you could show me around...if it’s okay with you, of course.”

The image of he and Jim standing before the lava fields, watching them bubble and burst in waves, almost took Spock’s breath away.  He would love for it to happen.  Yet he knew they could not complete such a trip without his parents and family friends being alerted.  And that made him fearful.  He could not stand before Sarek while Jim was his mate.  Not yet, maybe not ever.

Jim ran his fingers through Spock’s hair.  That marvelous hair, so fine and silky, only out of place during sex and sleep.  “I only want to do it if it would make you happy.”

“I would like it, but there are...considerations.”

“Of course, sweetheart.  I understand.  Will you think about it?”    

“I will.”  It was the truth.  

Jim sensed they could do with a change in subject.  “You will probably get promoted.”

“There is little doubt of that.  There is even less doubt that you will be promoted, Admiral.”

Jim chuckled.  Spock felt the hot breath against his skin.  “You’re joking.”

“I do not joke.  I simply must get accustomed to using that title.  That is, of course, if you accept it.”

Jim sighed and stretched, the gaps between his joints creaking and popping as he did so.  “Sometimes I forget that you can read my mind.”

“Even if we were not bonded, I would know you struggle with the thought of no longer being captain.”

Jim activated the lights.  He knew he would not be able to fall asleep after this.  “Taking the promotion--assuming I’m offered one--is the logical decision.  I owe it to Starfleet to pay them back by guiding the less experienced.”

“I disagree that it is the logical decision.”

“Oh?”  Sometimes his predictable Vulcan was incredibly unpredictable.

“You are a starship captain.  You live for the stars.  James Kirk will not be satisfied with life at a desk.”

In that moment it was clearer than ever why Jim needed Spock.  Spock’s introverted tendency for observation meant that he actually read people well and Jim, the object of his affection, was always under his studious gaze.  Spock knew him better than he knew himself.

Seeing Spock in the soft lamp light, his hair and eyes dark as the sky, eyebrows angled and delicately groomed, skin a captivating shade of yellow-green, Jim remembered a conversation he had with a Trill representative a few years ago.

_ “How do you handle working so closely with a Vulcan?”  She brought a cup of coffee to her lips as she awaited Jim’s response. _

_ Jim laughed and followed it up with a shrug.  “We have our differences from time to time, but I couldn’t ask for a better first officer.” _

_ They are amazing, aren’t they?”  She smiled playfully at him.  “One of my previous hosts was part of the delegation that received the first Vulcan diplomat to Trill.  The sight of him took her breath away.  Tall, dark, and handsome, as you say.  So enlightened and wise.  She developed quite the crush on him.” _

_ “Did anything come of it?” _

_ The Trill laughed.  “Oh, no.  Vulcans take everything very seriously.  If you ask one out on a date, you may as well be proposing marriage.” _

Jim smiled and decided to keep that memory to himself for now.  He lied back and stared at the ceiling.  “If I’m being honest, I don’t feel like I’ve earned a promotion.”

Spock lifted a brow.  “The five year mission was unprecedented, and you led it successfully.”

“Did I?  We lost a number of good young men and women.  Every day I find myself going over the losses in my head, doubting the decisions I made.”

“The day you lose the need for self-reflection is the day you are no longer fit for command.”

Jim rolled over to face Spock once more.  “What do you think about my command?  Honestly.”

Spock gave that slight, reserved smile he kept only for him.  “You can be emotional and headstrong as humans are wont to be, but I have always admired your leadership skills.  You are an excellent captain.”

The worries that brewed in Jim abated for the moment.  “And Vulcans do not lie.”

In an unusual move for him, Spock reached down and moved his fingers through the dark blonde curls.  “We do not.”


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Chapter Fourteen**

Each division of the  _ Enterprise  _ had its own personality.  There was always someone in one of the science labs, painstakingly observing and notetaking in silence, or perhaps listening to meditative Vulcan recordings.  Sick Bay, full of fastidious physicians and nurses, was often busy and rushed.  And stowed away in the belly of the ship, spending 16 hours a day crammed together perfecting codes and tightening connections, the  _ Enterprise _ ’s engineers were high-strung and boisterous.  They were the work hard, play hard fuel of the starship.

Though Spock was superior officer to everyone in Engineering, he was not immune to the nicknames and practical jokes that the area offered in abundance.  One ensign was fond of playing high-pitched sounds above human range and watching Spock’s face for a reaction.  The puns on Spock’s name, of course, were endless.  Luckily, long ago Spock learned that sassing back won loyalty better than admonishments.

When he entered Engineering as part of his end of mission rounds, the division fell silent.  He looked to Ensign Babnik, anticipating a giddy look, and listened for a whining noise.  There was none.  Ensign Babnik was turned away from him.

Spock walked over to the chief engineer.  “Mr. Scott, how are repairs coming along?”

“Very well, Mr. Spock.  She’s held up well during these past crazy years.”

Though Scotty’s tone was as jovial as ever, he kept his eyes on the panel in front of him.  He did not engage in personal inquiries or jokes.  Spock leaned in to avoid any eavesdropping ensigns.  “Mr. Scott, can we speak in private?”

“Aye, sir.”

Scotty followed him around the corner.  His fellow engineers looked over their shoulders and watched them walk away.

“How can I help you, Mr. Spock?”

“Mr. Scott, is there something going on here?”

“Excuse me?”

“It is not often that I walk in here and the room goes quiet.”

Scotty frowned.  “I assure you, sir, everything is going smoothly.”

“I do not doubt that.  What I do not understand is the behavior.  Have I done something to upset the crew?”

Scotty’s eyes widened in surprise.  “Not at all, sir.  It’s just that...oh, how can I explain it?  Imagine your parents at a diplomatic gathering.  Your mother has become close with many of your father’s colleagues, I assume?”

“...Yes.”  Spock tensed.  He did not like where this was going.

“Well, sir, even though Sarek’s peers may be good friends with your mother, I can promise you they are not as comfortable with her as they would be if she  _ wasn’t _ married to him.  Certain things are just disrespectful.”

Spock crossed his arms, leaned forward, and perked an eyebrow.  “Mr. Scott, I have no idea what you are talking about.”

Scotty nodded nervously.  “Aye, sir.”

They returned to a room full of curious faces.  “Alright,” Scotty’s Aberdeen voice boomed out, “Don’t you all have work to do?”

As Spock walked to the doors, Scotty pulled up alongside him.  “I’m sorry, sir.  I didn’t mean to overstep.”

Spock raised his hand.  “It is quite alright, Mr. Scott.  As I said,” Spock’s brow was elevated high, “I do not know what you’re talking about.”

***

Every cell and muscle fiber in Spock’s body told him that this was an unnecessary and even foolish decision.  He sat in the chair facing his monitor only to stand up and pace.  He repeated this several times, hoping the compulsion would pass.  

After sitting for the fourth (or was it fifth?) time, he remained.  He reached out to press the necessary buttons, his fingers tremblng as he did so.       

Amanda’s face was cheerful and bright on the screen.  “Spock!  I’m so glad you called.  Constance is settling in well.  She’s still warming up to us, I think, but we are all learning a lot from each other.”

“That is...gratifying to hear, Mother.”

Amanda’s blue eyes shined at her son.  “And she speaks so highly of you, and of Jim.  I really hope you come visit us soon.  Our house is always open to your friends, too.”

Spock shut his eyes, as though wincing in pain.  How his mother loved Jim.  “Is father available?”

Amanda’s expression became more restrained.  “Yes.  Why?  Is it the Federation?”

“A personal reason.”

Having long played the thankless and exhausting role of mediator between her husband and son, Amanda knew better than to hope for reconciliation.  “I’ll go get him.”

Sarek’s face, aged and serious, appeared in view.  “Spock, it is odd to receive a call from you.  I am not aware of any Federation news that requires our conversation.”

Spock swallowed, hoping to soothe his drying throat.  “I have called regarding a personal matter.”  

Sarek tilted his chin slightly.  “...What personal matter?”

"Why did you marry my mother?”

If Sarek permitted himself a look of annoyance, he would have worn it.  “As I have told you in the past, it was a logical decision.”

"Explain your logic.”

“Your mother is a well-educated, pragmatic woman, almost Vulcan in her sensibilities.”  Sarek’s tone was even and steady.

“Then why not choose a Vulcan woman?”

Sarek crossed his legs, the only hint he would give to his discomfort.  “Intermarriage has been used as a diplomatic tool for thousands of years.  My marriage to your mother was a symbolic union between two Federation peoples.”

“So you were not influenced by love.”   _ Just admit to me that you love her.  I know that you do. _

Sarek arched a brow, though overall his expression did not change.  “That is a human concept, Spock.”  There was a hint of condescension in his voice.

Spock could have broken the monitor.  Instead, he inhaled slowly and exhaled for just as long.  He had to do it now, and deal with the consequences later.  “I have decided to take a human mate.”

After a long pause, Sarek shook his head slightly.  “If you are seeking my approval, I cannot give it.  We are an old and respected family of ambassadors.  You joining Starfleet was the first insult to our name.  If you were to return here with another Starfleet officer on your arm, it would be scandalous.”  

It was clear that Sarek had no misgivings as to the identity of his son’s mate.  Spock took a hard look at his father, his face bearing both anger and remorse.  “Please do not tell Mother what we have discussed here.”  

“If you plan on bringing--”

“ _ No _ ,” Spock interrupted, his voice raised, “I do not intend to embarrass you further.”  With that, he ended the call.

Sitting on the floor and crossing his legs, Spock did something he never had to do before: he forced himself to think.

When he first joined Starfleet twenty years ago, his father warned him not only of Starfleet itself, but of the effects of being away from Vulcan for so long.  Humans, Sarek had warned him, were infectiously endearing.  And Spock, being half-human himself, would find them incredibly hard to resist.

What if he were to do what his heart called out for?  San Francisco would be his home then.  If Jim turned down his promotion and stayed a captain, they would likely be separated, but Earth would be their place of reunion.  Or they would receive the same assignment.  Starfleet knew they made a good team.  Their work on the  _ Enterprise _ had proven that.  What else was out there, waiting for them to be the first to discover it?

All theories, ideas.  Dangerous ideas.

There were few Vulcans on Earth, fewer still who resided there permanently.  For all its uniqueness and beauty, Earth was hectic, overcrowded, loud, and very cold.  Little wonder Vulcans did not stay there.  

His mother knew that the peaceful, logic-framed life on Vulcan would be a better place for a family.  Vulcan, and Vulcans, was immutable in a way that Earth was not.  

Spock was devoted to the teachings of Surak.  He believed in peace through nonviolence, infinite diversity in infinite combinations, the pursuit of knowledge, and that to achieve these things, emotional yearnings must be set aside.

He could not deny what Jim brought to his life.  When Jim was around, Spock’s mind was flooded with a feeling that extended all throughout his body in an intoxicating way.  Happiness.  He was happy with Jim.  And that had allowed him to imagine a life on Terra, more human than Vulcan.

And that thought, if Spock allowed himself the expression, broke his heart.

He gripped his knees tightly with the palms of his hands.  He and Jim were bonded, one.  Which meant that he  _ was _ more human than Vulcan.      

He knew what he had to do following the five year mission.  It was going to be the worst thing he had ever done.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Chapter Fifteen**

For five years, Jim and Spock had seldomly been without one another.  In the past month this had extended to being intimate.  While not without its concerns, this seemed a natural progression, and Jim had been more contented than he had been in a long time.  

When Spock did not arrive at Jim’s quarters after his post-shift meditation, as had become ritual, Jim was concerned.  Though they were bonded, which Jim understood and appreciated was a commitment greater than marriage for Vulcans, there was much Spock kept to himself.

Jim could sense that Spock was in pain; he could also sense that Spock was determined to avoid him.  Jim knew Spock needed a great deal of personal space at times, but this was different.  Spock was actively hiding, and Jim could not talk himself out of worrying.  He went to look for him.

He found him in a quiet corner of the exobiology lab, gazing out the window to the stars.  He wore loose black pants and a gray tunic.    

_ He never wears off-duty clothes around the ship.   _ “Are you alright?”

“Fine.”  The reply was quick, even gruff.  

Jim frowned.  “Are you upset with me?”

“No.”  Spock kept his eyes to the outside.  

Spock was, obviously, not fine.  Jim relied on his common and proved tactic in this situation.  “Is this because we never stay in your quarters?”  He smiled broadly.  

Spock did not smile back.  In fact, he did not turn to look at Jim at all.  “I have reached a decision.”

“Oh?”  Jim grinned before straightening his face.  He could feel Spock’s chest tightening in his own.  

“I’m going to return to Vulcan to complete the  _ kolinahr _ .”  

“ _ Kolinahr _ ?  I’m not familiar with that.”  Jim did not fail to notice that Spock had chosen the singular  _ I _ rather than the plural  _ We _ .  

Spock rested his forehead against the cool window.  It did nothing to soothe the blood pounding against his temples.  “It is a ritual of rigorous meditation and fasting meant to eliminate all emotion.”

Jim’s face fell as the weight of Spock’s words crashed against him like a rogue wave.  “Eliminate all emotion...including what you feel for me.”

When Spock breathed out, he shook.  “...Yes.”

Jim bit his lower lip.  “Why, Spock?”

“Jim, I am Vulcan.  I have devoted my life to discipline, to logic.  What you do to me...it is improper.”

“Your father fell in love with a human.”  Jim’s voice was faint with anguish.

Spock stared at a flickering, faraway star.  “I am not my father.  He had nothing to prove.”

_ “You don’t have anything to prove.”   _ Jim’s voice was strained, breaking, threatening to devolve into a cry.  

Hearing the sob forming in Jim’s chest was more than Spock could take.  He closed his eyes, hoping to prevent the tears from falling.  He kept his arms tightly across his frame like a brace.  “I do not expect you to understand.”

“Damn right I don’t understand!  I make you happy, don’t I?”  The first of Jim's tears escaped.   

“That is part of the problem.”

Jim’s knees lost their strength and he found himself using the wall for support.  He felt like the universe was caving under him.  His chest was so stiff he could barely breathe.

“I love you, Spock.  More than anything.  More than this ship, more than my damn career.  I would marry you this second if you’d have me.  We’ve both wanted this for so long and now we have it and you just  _ won’t let yourself be free _ .”

Spock hated seeing Jim like this.  For a moment he doubted everything and wanted to hold Jim against him and beg for forgiveness.  He hated discovering how cruel he could be.  

“Jim, we cannot be together.”  His eyes were glistening, his bones shaking, but he was not going to let himself cry.

Jim’s own crying slowed, but he remained against the wall.  “I never thought I’d say this about you, but you...you’re a coward.”

Spock had been called many things: freak, monster, monstrosity, half-breed, a crime against nature.  It never got easier.  Hearing Jim call him a coward cut him down to his core, and he knew he deserved every painful breath.

“I’m resigning, Jim.  Starfleet Command is aware.  Lieutenant Commander Scott has been briefed on my few remaining duties.”

“How long have you been planning this?!” Jim’s tone was the joining of anger and sadness that could only be brought about by betrayal.

“I thought it would be more difficult for you if I remained as your first officer.”

"Don’t lie.   _ You  _ were afraid that if you finished this out with me, you would be tempted to stay.”

Spock did not respond.  Jim was right, of course.  

“What will happen to our bond?”  Jim had to force the word “bond” out of his throat.

“I honestly do not know.”

“Because, typically, Vulcans mate for life.”  Jim seemed to direct the statement to the floor.  He was afraid to look at Spock anymore.  It would bring him to depths of despair and humiliation he didn’t know possible.

Spock stepped away from him.  “I should leave.”

He waited for Jim to respond.  When he did not, Spock began moving away.  His legs quivered so violently he could barely walk.

“You were my best friend, Spock.”

That would be the last he heard of Jim Kirk’s voice for a long time.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**Chapter Sixteen**

_ 2273 _

Jim decided to confront Spock in his quarters.  Maybe then he could get somewhere.

It was 0100, well into the second shift, and the ship was quiet. The last time Jim had done this was under much happier circumstances.

Though he was acting captain of the  _ Enterprise _ again, Jim was, in rank at least, an admiral.  And though Spock was acting as science officer again, he was not the same person who had left the  _ Enterprise  _ three years ago, and it was driving Jim crazy.

When Spock’s doors did not open for him, Jim was surprised, and hurt.  “Spock, please.  I really need to talk to you.”

No response.  The pain that he had been carrying around since Spock’s arrival was now suffocating him.  He knew that Spock knew.  He had to act as his captain, as Spock seemed determined to ignore anything else.

“Mr. Spock, open your door.”

This time Spock complied, reluctantly.  He sat cross legged on the floor, a black robe cascading from his shoulders.  His hair, of course, was impeccably smooth and orderly.  The sight of him here choked Jim the same way it had on the bridge, when they saw each other for the first time in years.  

Spock looked at him from the corner of his eye.  “Yes, Captain?”  His tone was stiffly, and maddeningly, professional.

Jim held his hands tight behind his back.  “Mr. Spock, I am curious as to why, after three years of no contact and with no warning, you felt it appropriate to show up unannounced on my ship.”  

Spock maintained his meditative pose.  “As I explained to you and Dr. McCoy earlier--”

“Yes, the presence, the Intruder, I understand.  And I  _ do _ understand the telepathic connection Vulcans can have with other beings, as you may recall.”  Too bitter, too angry.  He reeled it back.  “But what I don’t understand is why you couldn’t have contacted me first.”

“I felt an urgent sense of duty.  My connection with the presence told me I could not wait.  If this has upset you, Captain, I do not comprehend why.”

It was all Jim could do not to leave the room then and there.  “You are very determined to be profoundly and obtusely unemotional about this.  I know failing the  _ kolinahr _ must have been difficult for you.  But what you did--surprising me like that in front of my crew--it shook me.  Seeing you here, now, like old times, it’s shaking me.  And I can’t afford to be distracted right now.  I’m happy you’re back as my science officer, God knows we need you.  But you can’t condemn me for having a hell of a time adjusting to it.  Especially when you’re treating me so terribly.”

Finally Spock turned to face him.  “That was not my intention.  I was hoping that we could focus on the mission for the time being.”

Jim was still holding his hands behind his back.  His grip was causing his fingers to numb.  “I would like that very much.  That’s why we need to talk.  I’m not a Vulcan, Spock.  I can’t compartmentalize.  I need to deal with my feelings before I can focus.”  

“What would you like to talk about?”

“Damn it, Spock!”  Jim threw up his hands now.  “About  _ us.   _ About the fact that you left me to return to Vulcan and purposefully  _ forget _ about me, but you couldn’t, could you?  I couldn’t either.  I tried.  I dated other people, buried myself in travel.  But I could still  _ feel _ you, thousands of light years away, sometimes I could hear your thoughts.  And you could hear mine, right?  You heard me ask for your help and you came.  You still love me.  Please at least admit that.  You coming back just to ignore me hurts worse than you leaving ever did.”

Spock was quiet for a long time.  Maybe he hoped Jim would grow impatient and leave.  He was out of luck.  Jim made himself comfortable in a chair and waited.  

“Yes, Jim, I failed the  _ kolinahr _ because I love you.”

Those words were supposed to make everything better.  They were supposed to soothe the wound that Jim had been bearing for three years, put his world into perspective, have it make sense.  Yet they were hardly the panacea he had been hoping for.

“Funny.  I’ve been waiting for you for so long.  I thought those words would take the pain away.”

“Highly illogical, Captain.”  There was, just maybe, the tiniest hint of a smile behind Spock’s lips.  

Jim saw himself sitting down next to Spock and taking his hand.  Kissing his fingers and watching him tremble with each one.  Running his hand under his robe...

But he had been burned badly, and there was something massive out there that had the potential to destroy worlds that only Spock seemed to comprehend.  That was where all of his energy should go.  He stood out of the chair.  “Thank you, Spock.  I needed you here.”

Before Jim left, Spock called out his name.  When he turned around, Spock was standing.  “I needed to be here.”  

The question was at Jim’s lips.  It was out in the air, echoing in his ears before he realized he had asked it.  “Is there any hope for us?”

There it was again, Spock’s minute smile.  The hard lines around his eyes softened.  “There is always hope.”

 


	17. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

_ 2283 _

“God, Ambassador Talbot can talk, can’t he?”

Jim sat on the edge of the sofa and began removing his boots.

The corners of Spock’s mouth curled up slightly.  “He can be highly verbose.  That is why I leave him for you.”

“It wouldn’t be so bad if he wasn’t such a miserable bastard.  And I can’t keep up with his drinking anymore.”

Spock picked up Jim’s boots and placed them in the closet.  If he did not, they would lie awry on the floor for days.

“No, you cannot.  I wish you wouldn’t try.”

Jim patted the sofa cushion next to him.  When Spock attempted to ignore him and head for the kitchen, Jim batted his eyelashes.  Spock rolled his eyes, but sat down next to him anyway.

“James Kirk, you are not a young man anymore.”

Jim sighed with exaggeration.  “Always rubbing that prolonged lifespan in my face.”

Spock smiled, his lips together, and held out his index and middle finger.  Jim did the same and connected his with Spock’s.     

A sleek black cat with electric green eyes sauntered into the living room.  Cassini was her name, and she adored Spock and tolerated Jim.  How badly Jim had wanted a dog, but Spock logically, successfully, argued that they traveled too much to make a suitable home for a canine.  Cassini made a good companion, and Jim enjoyed knowing that when he was away there was someone to keep Spock warm.  

She jumped into Spock’s lap.  Jim reached over and scratched behind her ear.  

“All I wanted to do was captain a starship and see space.  Now I have to worry about schmoozing and delegating and keeping the peace.  I have to think about Klingons, I have to think about Cardassians.”

Spock’s face was tense in contemplation.  “The Cardassians worry me more than the Klingons.”

Jim nodded.  “I know what you mean.  The Klingons have a one-track mind.”

“Indeed.  Everything they do, they do for glory, for victory.  Theirs is a society based on ego.  Cardassians devote their lives to the State.  They firmly believe in the superiority of their race.  An idea is more difficult to fight than an individual.  However, they are both empires, and empires inevitably fall.”

Jim smirked.  “Jovial as always, sweetheart.  Was Admiral Kim talking to you about the Nazarene resettlement project?”

Spock ran his palm down Cassini’s back.  “Yes.  He asked me again if I would speak to Constance.”

“Didn’t she already tell you she needed time to think about it?”

“You know as well as I that Admiral Kim is not a patient man.”

Jim reached over and placed a hand on the back of Spock’s neck.  “If I were her I wouldn’t do it.  She got out.  She’s not obligated to come back and teach her former abusers about tolerance.”

“I do not disagree, but I expect the Vulcan principle of servitude will drive her to comply with the Federation’s request.”   

Jim rubbed his eyes.  “Let’s talk about something other than work.  How is she, personally?”

“She is doing well.  She has taken a wife.”

“Hey, wait,” Jim lowered his head into Spock’s lap.  Cassini glanced at him with agitation.  “Aren’t all Vulcans betrothed at an early age?”

“Most.  Some parents believe that it is an outdated practice, however.  And in cases of serious, innate incompatibility, such as sexual orientation, unions can be dissolved.”

Jim smiled.  “But you had to go through the  _ kal-if-fee _ ?  How much more obvious did it have to be?”  He cupped Spock’s face with his hands.

Spock’s cheeks flushed green.  “You are incorrigible.”

Jim grinned, his button nose crinkling.  “Sure am.”

***

After fifteen years of tilling soil that had nothing left to give, Nazareth had become inhabitable.  There were no roots to hold down the sand and even the weakest wind picked up large clouds of dust.  The dust blinded and suffocated inhabitants, and no human body could tolerate the conditions.  The American utopia had finally come to an end.  

Spock still dreamt of Nazareth.  He still dreamt of hot sun and premature death.  As he grew older, though, the dreams were less frightening.  He felt more in control with each nightmare that occured.

In his dreams, he often saw a version of his last day on Vulcan.  The details were often incorrect and strange, but they evoked the memory nonetheless.

_ “Spock.”  Constance was a woman now, with muscles and curves hidden under a white VSA robe.  Her light hair was bobbed, with bangs framing her forehead.  She stood behind him in his childhood bedroom. _

_ Spock lifted his head from the sink, where he had been washing his face.  Three years of dirt had been stubborn in washing away. _

_ “I haven’t seen you with facial hair.  It suits you.” _

_ He turned to her, but not before bracing himself for emotionality.  Whether it was hers or his, he did not know. _

_ “I am just about to shave it.  Hello, Constance.” _

_ She smiled at him, slightly.  “It is good to see you, Spock.  I’ve missed you.” _

_ Spock returned to the mirror and continued shaving.  He did not want to make more eye contact than was necessary. _

_ “I knew you were on Vulcan, but I could not see you due to the kolinahr.  I was prepared to never see you again, to be honest.” _

_ A sad break in her voice.  It tugged at Spock’s heart.  “I regret that I cannot visit for long, Constance.  I will be boarding a ship soon.” _

_ “I know.  You did not finish the kolinahr.” _

_ Failure.  Though he was focused on Jim’s need and the presence that called him from afar, the failure still stung.  It was confirmation that he was not full Vulcan.   _

_ He patted his face with a towel as he finished shaving.  “No.  It seems that there are other plans for me.” _

_ “Other people.”  She moved closer.  “It kills Amanda to see you doing this to yourself.  It kills me.  And I’m sure it kills Jim.” _

_ Spock tied his hair back in a ponytail.  “You speak in hyperbole.” _

_ “I don’t think I do.  You are returning to him, aren’t you?  Please say you are.” _

_ “I would rather not discuss it.”  He reached for a pair of scissors on the counter. _

_ “Allow me.”  She grabbed the scissors and a comb.  Her hands were careful and steady as she cut away the ponytail and trimmed his hairline.   _

_ Spock completed the last cuts into the traditional Vulcan style.  When he looked in the mirror, he was on the Enterprise again.   _

_ “I must go.” _

_ She nodded.  “Before you go, I know this isn’t very Vulcan of me, but…” Awkwardly she wrapped her arms around Spock’s chest and rested her head against his sternum.  He caught the slightly sour smell of humans.  When he had first arrived at Starfleet Academy, the smell had overwhelmed and disgusted him.  Now he found it comforting.  “It was obvious to me, even as a kid, that you two belonged together.  Whatever is out there, whatever needs to be done, he can’t do it without you.”   _

_ Whatever is out there, whatever needs to be done… _

When Spock thought about the life he had lived, everything he had seen, he was overwrought with surprise and gratitude.  There was an undercurrent of fear there.  How many close calls had there been, and how many did he have left?  

In truth he did not fear his own death much.  Jim’s was another story entirely.  Jim dying first was the logical progression of their lives; Jim was human, Spock was Vulcan, and one of those species far outlived the other.  Though it was evolution and nature and fact, it was unfair.  How could he love someone so much, only to have to confront his inevitable death?

Jim, per usual, had good humor about the prospect.   _ When I die, just let Cassini eat me _ .  Spock never failed to scold him when he said that.

Sometimes Spock could lie awake for hours, his thoughts on this and this alone.  When his body begged for sleep, it was Jim’s voice he heard in his head.   _ You worry too much, t’hy’la.   _

He did, indeed, worry too much.

He would curl up next to Jim, concentrating on his heat and solid mass, the weight and reliability of him.  He could sleep then.

The universe was as uncertain as it was boundless, and Spock knew better than anyone that even the laws of physics as were known could be bent and shifted.  There were only two truths beyond doubt: infinite diversity in infinite combinations, and Jim belonging in the captain’s chair with Spock at his side.      

 


End file.
